


Our Gentle Sin

by starspangledsprocket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Case Fic, Castiel is Not a Virgin (Supernatural), Closeted Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has a Sexuality Crisis, Discussion of kinks, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gay Panic, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Mutual Pining, Openly Queer Castiel, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Rimming, Sex Tapes, Sharing a Bed, Switches, Touch-Starved Castiel (Supernatural), Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29132061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledsprocket/pseuds/starspangledsprocket
Summary: “Why am I looking at Cas’s bare ass?” Dean asked, still not quite able to believe that those words were coming out of his mouth.“I thought that’s just how you spent most of your free time,” Sam replied without missing a beat, but something in Dean’s crazed expression must have made him pause, because he actually glanced down at the screen instead of jibing further.“Oh.”“Right?” Dean nodded, gesturing wildly to the scene.“Whyareyou looking at Cas’s bare ass?” Sam asked, squinting down at the laptop like it was going to bite him. “On a… gay porn site, of all places."The very last thing Dean Winchester ever thought he'd have to think about was the fact that, apparently, Cas wasanythingbut a virgin. It all goes downhill from there.
Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/Other(s), Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Other(s)
Comments: 78
Kudos: 233





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Please have this very specific concept that I haven't been able to get out of my head for weeks!
> 
> I'm still currently writing, so please be aware that the tags may get updated (though I've tried to give a general vibe through the ones I've already used, and the content warnings won't change). I've got 22k+ backlogged, and think it's probably only going to be another 10k ish before it's done, so don't worry about having to wait!
> 
> CURRENT POSTING SCHEDULE IS: Monday and Friday.

Dean Winchester wasn’t gay – he wanted that fact to be very explicitly known. The thought would never have even crossed his mind if that chick – Sandra, or Sarah, or something like that – hadn’t suggested it while she’d had her hands down his pants (and, surely, there was actually nothing _less_ gay than having an attractive lady’s hands down your pants). Even then, he’d been mightily resistant; it just wasn’t something he was _into_.

“C’mon, baby,” she’d purred into his ear, hand still very much a presence in his pants. “I didn’t peg you for a prude.”

And that… he wasn’t a _prude_. He liked it a little kinky, sometimes – could certainly appreciate a hand around his neck as he climaxed, or even a little tickle behind his balls when receiving a stellar back-alley blowjob from that college girl he’d met in that bar that time – so… he wasn’t _vanilla_ , by any standards. It stung a little that it was even being implied. He was _Dean Winchester_ , _Sex_ _God_ (trademark pending).

Something in his expression must have revealed his indignation, however, because Sasha (Shannon?) was quick to add, “But we don’t have to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s…” Dean found himself saying rather quickly. “I’m as open-minded as the next guy, sweetheart. Whatever gets you going.”

That earned him a particularly delicious squeeze of her hand and a filthy kiss that he felt right down to his toes.

And that was how he found himself watching gay porn on a crappy motel tv with his dick buried in Suzie’s (Sharon’s??) enthusiastic mouth. It wasn’t even the good kind of porn, with two chicks – this was full throttle, strap yourself in and hold on tight, dude on dude action, and it… wasn’t awful. Of course, he was mainly focused on the full, _feminine_ lips wrapped around him, and the noises the girl was making between his legs. If he concentrated, the porn just disappeared into the background, as though it wasn’t on at all. It was for his partner, after all, and Dean wasn't anything if not giving in bed.

And then one of the guys on the video moaned, pitched low in his chest, and Dean’s eyes flicked, unbidden, to the screen. They were both very tanned, he noticed first. Mostly hairless, too. _Muscly_. Either one of them could probably have held Dean down and done whatever they wanted to him –

With a jolting start and no warning, Dean came _hard_ into Shirley’s mouth. She made a noise of surprise, followed by a choking cough, and then swallowed a couple of times.

Dean just stared at her, a little bit mortified.

“Dude, party foul,” she tutted, completely oblivious to what had just happened. “Warn a girl, why don’t you?”

“S-sorry,” he managed, still out of breath, and rubbed a shaky hand over his sweaty face. “That was…”

“Unexpected?” the girl finished for him, and all he could do was nod and stare up at the ceiling. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find a way to repay me.”

That, he could do. Huffing out a laugh, feeling a little bit more centered, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up the bed towards him.

“Whatever you want, darlin’.”

~

It didn’t make him gay, was the point. If he had just been watching dudes going at it without Stella giving him what was probably one of the top ten blowjobs of his life, nothing would have happened. He’d only watched it for a second, anyway, and he’d been close beforehand. It was the shock, was all – sex thoughts weren’t _real thoughts_.

Porn wasn’t even real sex.

Hell, it was likely the guys in the video were straight, too! There was nothing like the thought of a fat pay-check to get your dick hard, after all, and what little Dean had seen looked too well-lit and staged to be anything other than a company job. The male anatomy was complex; a lot of things could get a guy hard for no damn reason at all.

He wasn’t gay.

He was _so_ not gay that he felt entirely comfortable scrolling through the gay section of his favourite porn site a couple of weeks later when he had some time to kill. He learned some new terms, sure, and his dick was hard and aching between his legs after a couple of minutes, but he didn’t come until he’d flipped back to good, old fashioned lesbian action, which proved his hypothesis – not gay.

It was great, actually; now he had a whole new catalogue of jerk-off material, and as long as he didn’t come, it didn’t mean anything had even changed. It wasn’t like he was watching the guys, after all – just things going in holes. Sometimes he didn’t watch it at all, just closed his eyes and listened to the wet, lewd noises echoing around his room. It was sex he was attracted to, he decided, not guys.

And it wasn’t even like he watched it every time he decided to jerk off. More often than not he liked to keep to what he knew, so it really wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like anyone was ever going to find out, either, so he refused to let it worry him. It was his little secret, and who was he hurting?

No-one, was the answer.

And so, whenever he had some time to himself, and was maybe feeling a little bored of his usual searches, he’d click on over to the gay portion of the website and see what said searches looked like with guys, instead. It was healthy, he decided, to open his mind a little. Done out of pure curiosity.

He should have known that curiosity eventually killed the cat.

Because he’d grown accustomed to his little habit over the years, and had genuinely stopped worrying about what it might mean. It meant exactly what he wanted it to, which was nothing…

Until he was idly scrolling through the ‘rimming’ tag in the bunker’s kitchen one day, deciding between huge bites of sandwich how he was going to spend his alone time that afternoon, when a particular thumbnail caught his eye and almost made him choke.

It wasn’t any lewder than the other videos he’d scrolled past. If anything, the angle – blown wide and to the side – made it less so. Peering closer, Dean squinted to take in every aspect of the photo. The Bottom was tanned, as they usually were, with sun-kissed hair and dark eyes. His hands gripped the bed sheets tightly, head thrown back in obvious pleasure while the Top’s face was obscured, buried between ample cheeks. From the side, it kind of looked like – but no, that wasn’t possible.

Because if he didn’t know better, eyes raking over the dusting of stubble and piercingly blue eyes just about distinguishable from between the Bottom’s legs, he’d say the Top looked like _Castiel_. His dark hair was rumpled in almost the same way, and his frame was identical (though Dean had _never_ seen it bent like in the thumbnail before), but it had to be a freak coincidence. There was no way it could actually be Cas.

Dean clicked on the video. He also realised, as he waited for the page to buffer (damn bunker wifi) that it probably wasn’t a good idea to do this in the kitchen. Dropping his sandwich back onto his plate, he kicked his chair out from under him and stood, scooping the laptop up with him. His jeans felt a little too tight around the crotch, but he managed to ignore it long enough to get back to his room and lock the door.

Thank God he didn’t run into anyone on the way there.

Settling onto his bed, he paused for a moment before hitting the play button. This wasn’t the first time he had found porn actors who looked like Cas, but it always caused a little bubble of unease to form in his throat regardless. Watching strangers going at it was one thing, but watching strangers that looked like people he cared about? That was a whole other kettle of fish.

He shifted uncomfortably, torn between the ache between his legs and his moral compass. He remembered, once, that he’d spotted an actor that kinda looked like Sammy – he hadn’t been able to jerk off for a week after that. Why, then, did he not feel the same repulsion when it came to actors who looked like Cas? He’d guiltily jerked off to a couple of lesbians that reminded him of Donna and Jody a couple of times, but at least they were _chicks_. He didn’t understand why his brain even put together the similarities between gay actors and Cas – Cas was one of the least sexual people he knew. The guy had had sex, what, once? In how many millennia? It was wrong of him to even equate Cas in the same _ballpark_ as what the frozen guys on his screen were about to get up to.

And yet.

His junk making his mind up for him, he threw caution to the wind and hit the play button anyway. It immediately felt more amateur than any of the stuff he usually perused; he felt a little weird that the people could be _real couples_ , and that he was intruding on a private moment. The footage was grainier, not HD like the studio stuff, and was coming from a single angle – a phone, maybe, or a low-end camcorder propped against a dresser. The setting looked familiar too, somehow, though Dean couldn’t place why. It was a pretty sparse bedroom – very much like all the other bedrooms in porn.

While the Bottom fiddled with the zoom lens, blocking where the Top lay on the bed behind him, Dean looked away and shifted his hands to his fly. It was easy enough to tug his pants down to his thighs, briefs following suit after catching momentarily on his erection. He allowed himself a couple of slow strokes as he shifted on the bed, propping himself up so his laptop could sit comfortably on his knees. The drag of his hand was a little much, sending gritty sparks up his spine, so he spat into his palm before returning it to his throbbing cock.

_Much better._

The first couple minutes of porn were always the same, whether it was gay, straight, lesbian, or anything in between – at least, in Dean’s experience. The couple got themselves situated on the bed, Bottom leaning over the Top for a hungry kiss, and Dean skipped forwards, telling himself he wasn’t interested in kissing. The video started to buffer again, and he let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back against his pillows to wait. His dick, still hard in his hand, twitched when he idly thought about kissing the _real_ Cas.

He’d be shy, he reasoned, hand inching faster on his dick. Unpractised. A little nervous, maybe, but very enthusiastic. Guy was practically a virgin – Dean imagined his face would flush crimson just from a tongue in his mouth, blue eyes wide and breath heavy, and Dean would make it so, _so_ good –

A fat pearl of pre-come dribbled from his cock, and he spread it around the head, breath catching in his lungs at the smooth, delicious drag. Unconsciously, his ass-cheeks clenched, balls drawing a little tighter as he raced towards release.

In his mind, Dean knew what he was doing as he spread Cas out on his bed, naked and wanting. There was no shame; no panic as he kissed him, and no regrets as they rocked together. Cas deserved it slow, deliberate, each thrust of Dean’s cock inside him a searing reminder of exactly who was pleasuring him. He’d make sure Cas came first, watch intently from above as he fell apart around him, and only then would he take his own pleasure, wrapped in Cas’s arms, heads pressed together, sharing the same air.

_“Come for me.”_

Dean felt as though he was tearing apart at the seams, every muscle tensed as he exploded with a barely contained shout. White spattered his heaving chest, and for a second he was sure he was about to pass out, black spots lurking at the edge of his blurry vision. His head was empty; the only sound he could hear was static, mumbling, somewhere just out of reach.

He had _never_ come like that before.

Between one gasping breath and another, as his come dried on his chest and his dick deflated in his hand, he snapped back to himself. The high of orgasm immediately trickled away, back into the corners of his mind to make way for terrifying, nauseating reality. His breath continued to come unsteadily, but now it was with a hitch of rising panic rather than satiated bliss.

Not only had he not managed to flick back over to girl porn before he’d blown his load, but he’d been _actively_ thinking about Castiel – his _best_ _friend_ in the entire world – and all the filthy things he could possibly imagine doing to him.

A wave of dizziness swept over him again, only this time he craved the release of unconsciousness, if only to halt his scrambled thoughts and shaking hands. The static was still there, low in his ears, but he realised after a moment that it was coming from his laptop, from the video that had apparently buffered and was continuing to play.

He felt ill. As quickly as he could, he pulled his underwear and pants back up, ignoring the stickiness and the way it made his gut clench, and reached for the trackpad to click away, erase all evidence of what he had done, and then possibly throw the whole laptop onto the nearest freeway.

His hand paused over the spacebar for just a second, eyes catching something on the screen that sent a jolt of unmitigated shock spiking across his brain all over again. That smile was Cas’s; he knew it anywhere. The guy on the video didn’t just _look_ like Cas – it _was_ Cas.

A voice came, unbidden, to his thoughts.

_“Come for me.”_

It was Cas’s voice, gravelly, unmistakable even honeyed by lust, and Dean had thought, in his pleasure-fogged brain, that his mind had conjured it up in the wake of his fantasy and impending orgasm. But as his shaking fingers pressed the rewind button, as he truly looked at the men on the screen, he realised it had all been real.

“Gabriel?” he yelled into thin air, even going so far as to stumble up and check his wardrobe, because there was no way this could be anything other than one of his tricks. There was no way that was _actually_ Cas.

The wardrobe was empty, and there were no hex bags under his bed, either. He scanned the room, feeling insane, and then dropped heavily back onto the end of his bed. The video was still playing, and he paused it, decidedly _not_ looking at how expertly Cas seemed to be using his fingers and tongue _in the guy he was about to fuck,_ and realised he was chuckling hysterically as he pulled his soiled shirt over his head and got up to find a clean one.

Castiel knew how to finger someone. He was also, if the title of the video was anything to go by, a “greedy little ass slut”, which Dean hadn’t known about him before this moment, either. He felt like maybe he was having a stroke as he changed his jeans and underwear, an unsettling sense of calm washing over him as he cleaned his hands in the sink by the door – the kind of calm that only ever settled in right before something terrible was about to happen.

He took a deep breath, feeling simultaneously calmer and a little like his head was about to explode all at once, and then grabbed his laptop and bolted from the room. Sam was the first person he found, researching something-or-other in the library, and Dean swept his books clean off the table to clear way for his laptop with still-shaking hands.

“Dean –“ Sam started, voice heavy with annoyance.

“Why am I looking at Cas’s bare ass?” Dean asked, still not quite able to believe that those words were coming out of his mouth.

“I thought that’s just how you spent most of your free time,” Sam replied without missing a beat, but something in Dean’s crazed expression must have made him pause, because he actually glanced down at the screen instead of jibing further. “ _Oh_.”

“Right?” Dean nodded, gesturing wildly to the scene.

“Why _are_ you looking at Cas’s bare ass?” Sam asked, squinting down at the laptop like it was going to bite him. “On a… gay porn site, of all places.”

Panic filled Dean’s chest so quickly that he was surprised he didn’t choke on it as he snapped, “I will kill you _so_ hard.”

Sam didn’t press, though whether it was because he just didn’t have the strength to think about it too hard, or simply that he pitied Dean, he didn’t know. Instead, he peered cautiously back down at the screen and scrolled for a moment, seemingly checking for something.

“Yeah, this is quite recent,” he hummed, ignoring Dean completely as he slumped into a chair across the table. “Thought I recognised that guy.”

“I – wait, _what_?” Dean did _not_ squeak, tugging the laptop back towards himself so he could get another look at the guy Cas was… _doing_. “You _recognise_ him?”

“They were in the kitchen one morning,” Sam replied with a shrug that was entirely too nonchalant for the _gravity_ of this situation. “Must have been the morning after –“

“Don’t need the details,” Dean waved him away, because the evidence of the evening before was slapped on the internet for just about anyone to see. “Why didn’t you tell me when you saw him? He was in our _kitchen_ –“

And then he stopped mid-sentence, a horrifying thought occurring to him. The guy had been in their kitchen because he’d been _there_ , in the bunker, which meant Cas had brought him _home_ , which meant –

“In _my_ house?” he yelled, turning back to the laptop. Yep, that was why he’d recognised the room – because it was _Cas’s_ room, all drab and sad looking and devoid of any personal touches, but his, nonetheless. “He brought this guy _here_?”

“Dude, what’s the big deal?” Sam laughed, apparently completely oblivious to _anything_ Dean was trying to tell him. “Cas is a pretty good judge of character, and even if he brought someone here with bad intentions, you think he couldn’t handle himself? Look, I’m not particularly thrilled I’ve seen the evidence, and I’m definitely never offering to wash his sheets for him again, but the warding keeps us safe from anything dangerous, and the guy’s allowed to blow off a little steam every once in a while. S’not like it’s the first time.”

“ _Blow off a little_ –“ Dean found himself spluttering, grasping for straws of an argument he didn’t really know how to make, because he didn’t really know what the tight feeling in his chest was supposed to mean.

Because yes, _of course_ Cas was allowed to blow off a little steam – it wasn’t exactly like Sam and Dean were saints when it came to casual relationships, after all – but Dean was having a whole lot of trouble wrapping his head around the fact that Cas blew off steam _at all_. Cas was, well… _Cas_. Stuffy, in an endlessly endearing way, and a little preachy when he really got on a roll, but not… _sexual_. It had been hard enough for Dean to wrap his head around the fact that Cas had slept with April while he was human, but now? With his angelic mojo back? And with a _guy_?

It was just a little hard to process, was all. 

“It’s… not the first time?” he dared to ask, suddenly feeling bone tired.

“Well, yeah,” Sam replied carefully. “I’ve seen him with a couple people around here.”

“People?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “A couple girls, early on, but mostly guys now.”

Dean rubbed his hand over his eyes, not completely sure that they weren’t about to bug out of his stupid head. “When has all this been _happening_? And why am I only just finding out about it now?”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t sleep ‘til noon every day you might start to notice a little more of what goes on around here,” Sam rolled his eyes.

“So, he just… brings people here?” Dean shook his head, still not completely believing. “And then he, what? Let’s them tape him? While he’s…?”

“Why don’t you come up with some full sentences and ask him yourself?” Sam sighed, reaching down to pick one of his books up off the floor. “I’m busy.”

“No, Sammy, c’mon,” Dean replied, and childishly slapped the book out of his hand again. “Cas fucks, fine, whatever, but you can’t think he knew this guy was filming him, right? And to upload it to a porn site? It’s… it’s amoral. It’s sick; we have to –“

“I am not getting involved in this,” Sam told him, bitch-facing his way through picking up the rest of his books. “It isn’t our business what he does in his spare time, or who he does it with.”

“But it’s _Cas_ –“

“What’s Cas?” the man himself asked, having appeared over Dean’s shoulder from some depth of the bunker. “Hello, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean automatically replied, before shaking his head to focus himself. “Cas! You, um…”

Sam looked mightily amused, watching Dean struggle for words, and only stepped in to help when Cas frowned, eyes squinting in his usual, concerned way.

“Dean found a video of you and that guy you brought home a few weeks ago,” he told Cas bluntly, and Dean didn’t quite understand how none of them had burst into flames, because he sure as hell felt like he was about to. “And he doesn’t know how to talk about it, because he’s a child.”

“A video?” Cas repeated, leaning further over Dean’s shoulder to take a better look at the incriminating evidence on his laptop. “What kind of – _oh_.”

He at least had the decency to blush. His cheeks heated, giving his face more colour than Dean thought he had ever seen before, and the spattering of red trailed all the way down to his collar. Dean cleared his throat, looked away from Cas’s bobbing Adam’s Apple before he thought something stupid like how it might taste if he licked a stripe straight up his neck.

“Did you know he filmed it?” he asked instead, voice softer than even he had anticipated. “Because he shouldn’t have posted it, Cas – you know that, right? Not without your permission, and definitely not –“

“Does the permission count if I texted it to him?” Cas asked, effectively cutting off every train of thought Dean had ever had.

“You… texted him?” Sam asked, barely able to hide his smirk now. “You text?”

“Well, I used the in-app messaging system, but it’s effectively the same thing, yes?” Cas asked, head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side. He was no longer blushing.

“In-app messaging system?” Dean almost didn’t ask.

“On Grindr.”

Dean was definitely having a stroke. He had to be – there was no way he had just heard those words coming out of Cas’s mouth. Castiel, Angel of the Lord, _prude_ , was not on hook-up apps, and he didn’t bring strangers back to their bunker to hit and quit. It just couldn’t be true.

Sam still seemed highly amused, because he let out a surprised laugh that echoed through the whole library.

“You’re on Grindr?” he asked, because, _apparently_ , he didn’t care that his brother was having a stroke at all.

“And Tinder,” Cas replied matter-of-factly. “I’ve found that Grindr attracts more adventurous lovers, though I enjoy the flirtations of many on Tinder. I’ve learned a great deal.”

“Hear that, Dean?” Sam asked, voice innocent, though his eyes gave away his mirth. “He’s been picking up tricks from his lovers.”

Dean could no sooner come up with a sensible answer to that than he could fart the alphabet. Instead, a string of garbled noises escaped his mouth, sounding a lot like a wheeze of pain, and he banged his head against the surface of the table to shut himself up.

“Dominic queried my willingness to be filmed during our initial conversation,” Cas continued, oblivious as ever. “I had no qualms, about that, or him publishing it.”

“You had no -!” Dean spluttered, head snapping back up. “You were happy for him to –?”

“Our time together was very pleasurable,” Cas shrugged a single shoulder, as though he were talking about root vegetables or baseball scores rather than his _sex tape_. “I’ve had other lovers who enjoyed watching pornography while we fornicated, and I saw no problem in letting others share mine and Dominic’s experience if it gave them pleasure, too.”

Of it all, the part of this Dean hated the most was the gentle way in which Cas said the guy’s name. _Dominic_. What a fucking loser, taping himself banging someone. Banging _Cas_. It still felt wrong, even though Cas _clearly_ had no issues with it, and he felt slightly ill at the thought of any random perv getting their rocks off to Cas’s face, his mouth, his ass, his cock.

“You’re angry,” Cas noted. He seemed a little hurt by the realisation.

“I’m not… angry,” Dean disagreed, though it sounded weak even in his own ears. “I just… up until an hour ago I didn’t think you had sex _at all_ , and now –“

“He’s definitely picturing it,” Sam snorted, and Dean kicked him under the table.

“I just mean… I didn’t know this is something you were interested in,” he replied, almost completely honest. “I didn’t think angels needed sex.”

“The drive is not the same as for humans, I admit,” Cas tilted his head to the side again, lips slightly pursed. “But… it’s hard to explain. At the time, I enjoyed sleeping with April immeasurably. The act itself was… miraculous isn’t the word, but it’s close, I suppose. But she used me, at my most vulnerable, and it soiled the whole experience. I simply… wanted to experience the pleasure without the betrayal.”

“And that’s what you’re doing?” Dean asked. “Hooking up with strangers?”

“Humans are very transparent when it comes to their pleasure. Their walls fall away at the slightest touch. It’s incredible to watch – to be a part of,” Cas replied earnestly. “Besides, our line of work hardly spares time for anything of more substance. I know you aren’t this dense, Dean.”

“Wow, _ouch_ ,” Dean huffed, though he didn’t feel quite so off kilter now he’d heard Cas out. It was still a lot to take in, sure, but he couldn’t begrudge the guy taking a little something for himself – especially when he thought about how he’d found him in April’s apartment. It was all he could do not to shudder at the thought.

“You both take your pleasures where you can,” Cas continued, eyes flicking from Dean to Sam and then back again. “I am simply doing the same.”

“And… _men_?” Dean had to ask.

“Angels do not perceive gender and sex in the same manner as humans,” he replied briskly. “I am drawn to some over others, true, but not because of their genitalia. I’ve found there is actually very little difference in the way a vagina or penis stimulates my –“

“Okay, junk doesn’t matter, gotcha,” Dean cut him off, voice little more than a squeak, and Castiel frowned.

“Does… my lying with men in this vessel make you uncomfortable?”

“No, dude, of course not,” Dean reassured him quickly, though he was honestly not entirely thrilled by the revelation either. “You like what you like – doesn’t matter as long as it’s fun and safe.”

Sam shot him a strange look, and another smirk crept onto his lips.

“You _are_ being safe, right?”

Dean hated him.

They had vaguely introduced the idea of condoms and birth control after the mishap with April and Cas’s angel blade comment, but hadn’t gone any further than to slap a box of condoms in front of him and point him in the direction of a sex ed website. Dean hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of having The Talk with Cas then, and he was certain he still wasn’t ready to have it now, either.

“I am able to heal any infections I might catch,” Cas hummed, and Dean very nearly choked on his own spit. “Unless there is a chance of pregnancy, I usually leave the decision to my partner.”

“There’s a chance of passing infections on to other people before you realise you have them,” Sam told him, serious for the first time since Dean had found him. “It’s always better to… wrap up.”

“Noted, thank you,” Castiel nodded his head with a gentle sigh, and then turned back to Dean. “Are there any other probing questions you have about my sex life, or am I free to go?”

“No,” Dean cleared his throat, but still felt a little winded. “That’s all.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but his smile, Dean hoped, was fond as he swivelled on his feet and disappeared through the door. Dean stayed silent, watching the space he had filled, brain a jumble of completely intangible thoughts.

“Wow, that was _super_ fun,” Sam laughed a moment later, and slapped Dean on the shoulder as he got to his feet. “You want a beer? I need a beer.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy posting day! Thank you for all the lovely support on the first chapter - hope you like this one, too!

Dean just didn’t think about it – any of it. Whenever a stray thought popped into his head, mainly consisting of Castiel’s smooth skin or husky, sex-addled voice, he immediately shut it down and stuffed it into a little box in the back of his brain. It wasn’t one of his healthiest coping mechanisms, he knew, but definitely the most effective.

Nothing even changed, to begin with, which was the most frustrating part. Dean still woke up at noon every day, thereby missing any chance encounter he might have had should Cas decide to bring anyone else home – which he hadn’t, incidentally. Dean had started paying a little extra attention to the security camera facing Cas’s door as he did their weekly check-throughs – purely for Cas’s safety, of course – and had been strangely pleased to see the corridor had remained empty of strangers ever since he’d found the video.

The video that he definitely hadn’t gone back and watched the entirety of. The video he hadn’t paused right as Cas had climaxed just to jerk off all over himself. He wouldn’t do that, because Cas was his best friend, and he’d already decided he wasn’t going to think about any of it. Besides, he didn’t come over gay porn because he wasn’t gay.

Except the way Sam had started looking at him made him think that maybe he was suspecting something to the contrary. Worse, he seemed _fine_ with whatever conclusions he was obviously jumping to, which just put Dean even more on edge. Sammy didn’t have a single clue what was going on, but damned if Dean was going to bring it up if he didn’t have to. He could think what he liked – Dean knew the truth, and he knew that Sam would drop whatever he was thinking sooner or later.

He just had to wait him out.

The problem, however, was that his brother could be just as stubborn as him when he really wanted to be. Almost a month had passed, and Sammy was still giving him the doe eyes whenever he didn’t think Dean could see him. It was the worst when he and Cas were near each other, so Dean had had no choice but to take a step back, distancing himself in case he accidentally let anything else slip that might further whatever argument Sam seemed to be putting together in his mind.

Only, distancing himself seemed to put Cas on edge, which he hated almost as much as Sam’s baleful expression. He spoke to Dean with increasing snippiness, and made a show of leaving a room whenever Dean entered it; his hurt gaze bore into Dean’s back, though Dean refused to reach out and sooth him like he might have done before this whole mess. They didn’t really touch at all, anymore, and Dean was quick to pull away if they did, lest Cas realise that the shame over what he had done was etched into every fibre of his being.

The video had disappeared – not that Dean was keeping tabs on it, because he had already decided that he wasn’t going to think about it – and he hated himself even more, because all he could think about was the fact that Cas must have been in contact with Dominic again to ask him to take it down. That meant they were still in touch. What if they continued to stay in touch? What if, now Cas seemed to be unlocking other human aspects of his psyche, he decided to fall in _love_? What if he decided to move out, to shack up with this guy that Dean had never met, knew nothing about –

He stopped himself before he started to spiral somewhere out of his control. Castiel was a grown-up – he could go ahead and fall in love with whoever he wanted to. It wasn’t like Dean could _talk_ to him about it, because that would mean admitting he had had the tab open near constantly since he had found the damn thing, and had therefore noticed when it had been taken down. It wasn’t like he was even _interested_ , because he wasn’t attracted to men. He certainly wasn’t attracted to _Cas_ , of all people.

Sure, _objectively_ , Dean could admit that Cas was a good-looking dude, but he didn’t have to be gay to see that. Was it really so wrong of him to want to protect his best friend, new to the ways of the world (though not, apparently, as new as Dean had originally thought), from getting hurt?

“Beer with breakfast?” Sam asked with a hint of apprehension, pulling Dean from his thoughts as he wandered into the kitchen that morning. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Nothing to talk about,” Dean replied quickly, and took a large gulp of his beer just to wind Sam up. “Whatcha got there?”

Sam was holding his open laptop, a small stack of papers resting on the keyboard. For a moment Dean thought he was going to push the beer issue, but instead he shook his head and held the laptop out, waiting for Dean to shove his barely eaten breakfast to the side so he could place it down in front of him.

“I think it might be a case,” he told him by way of explanation, sliding into the seat opposite. “Hikers have been washing up on a riverbank next to the Red Bluff Campground over in the Mark Twain National Forest.”

“Which is in…?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Missouri.”

“You sure it’s something for us? Hikers wind up dead all the time – doesn’t mean there’s anything spooky going on,” Dean reasoned, taking another sip of his beer as he rifled through Sam’s research. “Hell, follow the wrong trail, misstep too close to a ledge – it’s easy to get yourself killed someplace like that.”

“The bodies were all completely drained of blood, Dean.”

Dean paused, bottle halfway to his lips. “Okay, maybe it _is_ something for us.”

“You think?” Sam replied sarcastically.

“So, what’re you thinking, Mr. Sassy? Vampire? Djinn?”

“Maybe,” Sam hummed, though he didn’t seem convinced. “They don’t usually drain the victims _dry_ , though, right? Way these reports are telling it, there wasn’t an ounce of blood left in these poor bastards’ bodies.”

“Hmm,” Dean agreed, because that _was_ a little odd. “Okay, I’m game. You get the lamb’s blood and I’ll get the FBI jackets –“

“Actually,” Sam cut him off with a furtive glace to the side. “Garth has asked for an assist on a Wendigo case down in Mississippi. I thought… maybe you and _Cas_ could go to Missouri?”

“What?” Dean almost gagged on his sip of beer. “Sam, no, I – I’ll go help Garth and you and Cas can –“

“Garth asked for me personally,” Sam cut him off again, not unkindly, and Dean had to force himself not to curse. “Something about needing someone tall –“

“I’m tall!”

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam sighed. “It’s _Cas_. Whatever’s happened between you two since you found that stupid video –“

“ _Not_ having this conversation –“

“ – you _have_ to get your head out of your ass and _figure something out_ ,” Sam finished with force, completely ignoring Dean’s attempts to derail the conversation. “For all our sakes.”

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his already sleep-crumpled hair. Sam was right, though he was loath to admit it. He couldn’t keep up as he was, pushing Cas away because of his own insecurities. He was a grown man – he was capable of pretending he hadn’t repeatedly jerked off to his best friend’s sex tape without his permission, even if it killed him.

More than anything, he just wanted things to go back to the way they had been before he’d found the damn thing – back when he’d thought Cas was basically a virgin, and he had to flick back to naked girls to be able to come. Back when he was having _actual sex_ , with _real women_ , and the world made sense. He missed the easiness of their little family, him and Sam bouncing between teasing and teaching Cas about the human world.

Maybe working a case, just the two of them, would be good for them.

“Alright,” he agreed, and downed the last of his beer. “Dean and Cas’s big adventure – can’t wait.”

Sam just sighed, watching Dean with an unreadable expression as he got to his feet. He snagged the bacon off his plate, but pushed the rest towards Sam – a habit from when they were kids that had stuck ever since. Sam stared at him for a moment more, but eventually picked up Dean’s fork and went to town on his eggs. Counting that as a win, Dean crammed a rasher of bacon into his mouth to hide his fond smile, and headed for the door.

Cas wasn’t in the library, nor was he in the war room. He had no reason to be in any of the storerooms, or the basement, so Dean headed towards his bedroom instead.

“Cas?” he called, banging on the closed door. “Rise and shine, buddy – we’ve got a case to work!”

He waited for a moment, listening for any hint of movement from within, and frowned when none came.

“Sam?” he called back towards the kitchen. “You know where Cas is?”

But, of course, Sam couldn’t hear him, either. With a frustrated sigh, Dean tried the door handle – locked, naturally. Not really sure what else to do, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and speed-dialled Cas. It rang for just a little too long, but eventually connected.

Cas cleared his throat, and sounded half-asleep when he answered, “Dean?”

“Cas,” Dean replied, trying to hide the relief in his voice. “Where the hell are you, man? Sam’s found us a case –“

But he was cut off by a voice that decidedly _wasn’t_ Cas in the background.

_“- didn’t think you were ever going to wake up, sleepyhead! Did I really wear you out that much? You want some coffee?”_

Dean swallowed a sharp intake of breath, glad that Cas couldn’t see the way that his cheeks were heating up. He had to clear his throat to steady his voice before replying, “You, um… you’re with company. I didn’t – sorry, I can call you back –“

“It’s fine,” Cas replied, but no – no, it was _not_ fine.

Cas was in a stranger’s bed. Cas had _slept_ in a stranger’s bed, so worn out by whatever the two of them had been up to that not even whatever angel mojo he had left had been able to keep him awake. Dean decidedly _did not_ think about what they could have been doing to warrant an angel of the lord passing out afterwards, and instead focused on banishing the hard lump that was settling in the pit of his stomach.

“Sam’s found a case?” Cas prompted, once it became apparent Dean no longer had the capacity to speak. “Do you need my assistance?”

“Well, um… Sam’s heading to Mississippi to help Garth with a Wendigo, so we thought, maybe… you’d wanna come with me?” Dean stuttered, and silently juggled with the idea of beating himself to death with his phone. “Unless you’re busy, which it sounds like you are, so don’t feel any pressure to –“

“I’ll be there shortly,” Cas spoke over him, voice tinted with amusement.

Dean, now he had started, was having an extremely hard time shutting the fuck up. “Great – awesome! I, um – don’t feel like you need to rush if you’re in the middle of… _of_. And you’ve got that coffee to drink, right, even though I didn’t think you really drank coffee, but I don’t know – maybe you do after you’ve –?“

“Goodbye, Dean.”

And just like that, Cas hung up on him. It was a relief, honestly, because Dean knew from experience that he would have kept rambling until he physically couldn’t speak anymore, digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole that he was already struggling to pull himself out of.

Idiot,” he sighed, knocking himself on the head with his phone. “Complete _dumbass_.”

~

True to his word, Cas arrived not an hour later. Dean had spent that time packing for the trip and actively _not_ thinking about the fact that Cas was making hook-up house calls now. Dean hadn’t exactly kept track of Cas’s comings and goings, just sped through their security footage in search of unfamiliar faces. Had he completely missed the fact that Cas had been leaving the bunker and not arriving back until morning? Had he been doing that while he’d also been bringing people back home, or was it a new thing?

But, of course, he wasn’t thinking about it.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas greeted, appearing at Dean’s door, and he looked… _dishevelled_ , Dean supposed was the polite word for it.

_Well-fucked_ was an infinitely more accurate description.

He’d obviously gotten dressed in a hurry, because he’d foregone his trench coat in favour of hanging it over his arm instead. His suit was rumpled, as though it had been pulled off in a hurry and strewn somewhere without a second thought, and his hair – usually flyaway on the best of days – looked like it had been gripped tightly and _tugged_. His tie was around his neck, but he hadn’t knotted it; it hung, creased, against his chest.

There was also a sizeable hickey just under Cas’s ear, Dean realised with mounting horror, in the juncture where his neck met his jaw. It was all Dean could do not to imagine the scenario where that had occurred, and Cas’s state of mind thereafter, not to heal it.

“Hey,” he croaked, aware he was staring. “You, um… you’ve got a little something –“

He gestured to his own neck and Cas copied his movements, touching his fingers to the bruise. He flushed, just slightly, and when he pulled his fingers away again the mark was gone.

“Apologies,” he murmured, glancing at the ground.

“No, that’s…” Dean had to clear his throat, and then, because he was apparently a sucker for punishment, asked, “You, uh, have a nice time?”

He was _trying_ , dammit.

“ _Nice_ probably wouldn’t be the word I’d use to describe it,” Cas replied, folding his arms across his chest in a way that Dean recognised as defensive. “But don’t feel like you need to inquire, Dean. I know my taking male lovers makes you uncomfortable –“

“Hey, wait, no,” Dean replied quickly, because did he have to put it _like that_? “It’s not like I’m – I’m not _homophobic_ , or anything, okay? I don’t have a problem with –“

“Then what _is_ the problem, Dean?”

Cas wasn’t angry, Dean noted distantly, only tired. Resigned. His expression, a tangle of defiance and hurt, made something in Dean’s chest twist painfully. The problem was that he didn’t _know_ what his problem was. Cas was entitled to sleep with whoever he wanted – go anywhere and do anything he wanted – and yet… Dean had always, somewhat selfishly, assumed that he and Sam were the centre of Cas’s world. He’d _fallen_ for them – fought with them, again and again – and he’d even moved into the bunker when Dean had asked. Confusing feelings aside, Cas was the best friend Dean had ever had – the only friend, if he really thought about it – and the idea of losing him to some faceless hunk was a little more than Dean thought he could bear.

“I don’t have a lot of people in my life I can count on,” he murmured, uncharacteristically honest, but if he was about to spend eight hours in the car with the guy, he had to lay this out first. “You’re up there at the top, buddy. And I’ve always just… I’ve taken for granted that me and Sam are up there for you, too. But that’s… I shouldn’t take that for granted, I know I shouldn’t. It’s selfish of me to assume you’ll always come when I call, because you’re allowed to form friendships, _relationships_ outside of this bunker, and I… it’s just taking me a second to switch gears, man, I’m sorry.”

Cas pinned him with a hard expression, and for a moment Dean thought he might snap at him, or scream at him, or simply turn tail and walk away. It made him feel nauseous to think about; this was why he didn’t talk about feelings, dammit. 

Instead, Cas’s eyes went to the floor and he sighed, letting his arms drop back to his sides.

“You should know by now that I _will_ always come when you call,” he whispered, voice a little too raw for Dean’s liking. “But you have to understand –“

“I know, I know,” Dean nodded, very ready to be done with this conversation. “Just gotta learn to share my toys, huh?”

Only, that hadn’t been what he’d meant to say _at all._ Cas squinted at him, head tilted to the side curiously, and it looked like he was about to say something else, so Dean quickly cut him off.

“Not that I – I don’t think of you as _mine_ , obviously,” he stuttered with a nervous laugh. “And you’re not a toy! You’re your own person and you can do what you want – I get it –“

“Dean,” Cas cut him off, and Dean clapped his mouth shut with a thankful sigh. He held his breath for just a moment, worried that Cas would say something he wouldn’t have a sensible answer to, but after a long moment he just sighed heavily and continued, “So… the case?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, taking a deep breath of his own to steady his racing heart. He could talk about the case – he could talk about damn near anything as long as it wasn’t the strange expression on Cas’s face. “Yeah, um, so Sam found a couple news articles about hikers turning up drained of blood over in Missouri. Apparently, they’ve been washing up in a creek just off some campground – how do you feel about camping?”

Cas grimaced, and despite everything, Dean found himself chuckling under his breath.

“Yeah, me neither, but there’s a motel around forty minutes from the site, and a town full of people that might know something, so you in?”

“Of course,” Cas replied without preamble, and Dean couldn’t help but grin.

“Alright! Well, I’m pretty much packed – just need to get the FBI jackets out of storage – and then we’re good to go. You might wanna grab anything you think you’ll need and –“

“Actually, do you think I have time for a shower?” Cas asked, a blush creeping back up his neck. “I’m a little –“

_Covered in bodily fluids_ , he didn’t have to add. Dean swallowed hard.

“Could you not just…” Dean had to clear his throat again – _dammit_. “Could you not just mojo yourself clean?”

“I could,” Cas agreed, cheeks still flushed. “But I’ve found I quite enjoy manually cleaning myself after –“

“Okay!” Dean yelped, a little louder than was strictly necessary. “Yeah, you – go take a shower, man. _Wash away your sins_ , as the people say –“

Why was he incapable of holding a normal conversation? Cas looked at him for a moment more, expression hard to read, and then he rolled his eyes and ducked back through the door.

“I won’t be long,” he called over his shoulder.

Dean waited approximately five seconds after Cas had disappeared before he threw himself bodily back onto the bed, covering his face with his hands as he did so.

_Idiot_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas are forced into another conversation about feelings, and Dean finds himself falling further into confusion while taking a (rather steamy) shower.

The drive was pretty uneventful, up until them having to stop for gas. In an attempt to settle things once and for all between them, Dean had let Cas play his dumb pop music for a couple of hours; Cas’s smile more than made up for Beyonce tainting Baby’s stereo system, and though he tried to stifle it in the ten and two position on the wheel, even Dean found himself tapping along to the beat before too long. If Cas smiled a little brighter when he did it, well… Dean just pretended he hadn’t noticed.

They were only a couple of hours out by the time Baby started to splutter, so Dean pulled into the next Gas-N-Sip he could find for a refuel. Cas went inside to stretch his legs with strict instructions to pick up a couple of their least anaemic-looking hotdogs and whatever soda had the most sugar in it; meanwhile, Dean swiped his card to fill the tank.

As he waited for the pump to do its thing, he let his mind go blank, revelling in the gentle breeze that washed across his face as he idly glanced through the store window. He felt more relaxed than he had done for a while, a long drive usually all it took to make him feel focused, and that was why he didn’t immediately spot Cas. He’d expected to find him wrestling with the hotdog machine, or maybe staring blankly at a soda label, but instead…

The cashier had her hand on Cas’s bicep. Dean couldn’t make out what they were talking about – could only see that whatever Cas had just said had made the girl throw her head back in laughter. He watched, a little dumbfounded, as Cas’s eyes drifted to the long line of her neck – not unlike how Dean himself might have checked a hot girl out – and when he smiled back at her it was with a heat Dean was still completely unused to seeing on his face.

That wasn’t how he always looked at people, was it? Or had Dean only started to notice since the revelation that Cas apparently had these feelings _at_ _all_? Sam had been under the impression that he had been… bringing people home for a while. Had Dean really been so blind the entire time? A pang of guilt shot through his gut – had he really paid so little attention to Cas that he had missed this whole facet of his existence?

Pump forgotten in the neck of Baby’s tank, Dean found himself moving towards the store before he’d made the conscious decision to do so. Not really sure what he was doing, he yanked the door open, ignoring the irritating little bell that chimed above his head, and made a beeline for Cas.

It was the girl who spotted him first; her eyes widened, and she withdrew her hand quickly as Dean stormed towards them. Cas cocked his head to the side, turned away from the counter to see what had spooked her, and had the audacity to _beam_ when he spotted Dean. All traces of heat evaporated from his expression immediately, and that… Dean wasn’t stung by that realisation.

He _wasn’t._

“Dean!” he continued to smile, and then gestured to the girl behind the counter. “Natalie here helped me with your purchases.”

“Yeah, I bet she did,” Dean muttered under his breath. Then, louder, “Alright, Casanova, you done here?”

“Yes, I just have to pay,” Cas nodded, but when he turned back to the counter, he was met with fluttering eyelashes and a waving hand.

“It’s on the house,” the girl – _Natalie_ – purred.

“No, it’s not,” Dean replied firmly, more than ready to be done with this whole situation. He snagged Cas by the back of the trench coat when it looked like he was going to lean back towards the counter, and used his other hand to slap his card down in front of them. “Just run my card.”

After another moment of wide-eyed staring, the girl leaned right back, clicked her tongue, and began to ring up their items. While she did so, Cas turned to Dean with a frown, though he thankfully didn’t say anything.

Once the girl had packed their items and swiped Dean’s card, she handed it back to him with a cool indifference that he had sadly come to recognise from twenty-somethings now he was getting older. He refused to let it bruise his pride any more than it already was, and instead took the card with one of his signature smiles.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he grunted, and ignored her when she rolled her eyes at him, instead turning back to Cas. “Let’s go, buddy.”

Cas, thankfully, followed, but he was still frowning by the time they were back on the road. He had the extraordinary ability of being able to turn a frown into a living, breathing thing, and within ten minutes of setting off it felt like something dark and heavy was crawling down Dean’s throat.

So much for having settled things between them.

“You were rude to that woman,” Cas was the first to break, and Dean childishly found himself thinking of it as a win.

“She was looking at you like she wanted to _eat_ you, man,” he replied with an unattractive snort.

“So?”

Funny, how a single word had the ability to momentarily shut down every possible argument Dean could think of. He forced himself to keep his eyes on the road, even as he spluttered for an answer.

“ _So_?” he repeated, still not daring to glance at Cas. “So… so, we’re on a case! Time to get your head in the game, man –“

“And _you’ve_ never flirted with anyone while on a case?” Cas shot back, the timbre of his voice making Dean flinch. “You’ve never fucked a woman you’ve just met in the bathroom of a gas station?”

Dean felt like all the wind had been knocked out of him, and he had to suck in a breath to steady himself. Cas _never_ swore like that – not even when all seemed lost, or he was in agony. It was something to behold, Dean realised as his pants began to tighten a little, to hear him blaspheme so viscerally.

“First of all,” he found himself replying, still a little breathless. “No, I haven’t ever _fucked a woman I’ve just met in the bathroom of a gas station._ ”

It was… sure something he was picturing Cas doing now, though.

“Second of all,” he powered through, ignoring how his voice wavered. “Even if I had… done _that_ … you’re better than that, man. You deserve better than that.”

He had meant it to sound reassuring – to make Cas feel better about whatever it was that seemed to be bothering him so deeply about this. When he finally chanced a glance across the car, however, he realised that he must have made a terrible mistake. Cas’s eyes, usually the warmest blue, were icy as he stared to the road ahead. His jaw was clenched tightly, as though he was afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he wasn’t careful.

“I know what you think of me, Dean,” he whispered, bitter, after a few moments of tense silence. “An angel of the Lord, unconcerned with the intricacies of the human condition. Untouchable, unruffled. Your faith in that is kind, Dean, but unjustified. I am…”

His voice cracked – actually _cracked_ – and it was all Dean could do to turn back to the road and keep his eyes on it.

“You don’t – you have _never_ understood how broken I am,” he croaked, breath stuttering in his chest. “Retaining some of my grace, but disconnected from my brethren, and all the while this feeling of… of _desire_ , and a craving for more, for _intimacy_ , it keeps growing the longer I stay here, on Earth. But I’m not human, not truly, and I’m no angel – I’m neither, I’m _nothing_.”

“Cas, hey, no,” Dean tried, aware of his own voice cracking, too. “You can’t really believe that –?“

“It’s the truth, Dean,” Cas shook his head, knocking a couple of tears loose in the process. “And you still refuse to see it.”

Guilt, dark and searing, caught in Dean’s throat and clung there, making it hard to breathe. He hadn’t realised – hadn’t _known_ that simply staying on Earth had been hurting Cas all this time. He hadn’t thought about the consequences of Cas falling beyond the actual act, and now he realised, all over again, just how selfish that had been. Had Cas known this would happen? Dean had to believe that he hadn’t, otherwise why in God’s name would he have done it at all? They weren’t worth – _Dean_ wasn’t worth the pain that was weighing Cas’s shoulders down, the sadness that made his lip tremble.

“You should have said,” he murmured, voice pinched around the lump in his throat. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“There’s nothing to be done,” Cas replied, resigned. “And it’s… not all bad. I meant it when I said the act of physical love is near-miraculous. It is. It’s the feelings that come with it that are… overwhelming.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well,” Castiel frowned. “Once the… _physical desire_ has been satiated –“

Dean didn’t twitch at _physical desire_ , because he wasn’t a child.

“- I find myself feeling… other things.”

“Other things?” Dean asked, daring another glance at Cas; he appeared deep in thought.

“The need to protect, and hold, and sooth,” Cas continued, and his cheeks were flushed as though he were embarrassed by the admission. “But many of my partners have been… less than amenable to the suggestion.”

Dean let that process for a moment, that there were people in the world who weren’t interested in letting Cas cuddle them. It seemed crazy; with his impossibly long arms and legs, his fluffy hair and smooth skin, Cas was practically _made_ for cuddling.

But Dean had to admit, being overly friendly could be a serious one-night-stand faux pas. It depended on the expectations, of course, but he couldn’t imagine anyone who was cruising for a quick fuck on a hook-up app was really interested in anything past a nut-and-duck.

“Yeah, it’s…” he struggled for a moment with how to respond. “Not everyone is comfortable, being that intimate with a stranger.”

But that just seemed to confuse Cas even more. “But they allow me to penetrate them –“

“It’s not the same thing,” Dean argued quickly. “Sex is… you’re physically intimate with them, sure, and it feels good to share that stuff with another person, but… that’s just your monkey brain talking. It doesn’t last forever – it doesn’t always mean anything at all. That side of it – the… the _physical act of love_ , it’s such a small part of the bigger picture. The stuff you want to do afterwards – the… the holding? Wanting to take care of another person? That’s more than monkey brain stuff, man. That’s the kind of stuff you do with people you actually care about.”

Cas was still frowning, but he nodded his head. “And those things… they’re what last forever?”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed softly. “And if you find someone you care about and _also_ want to have sex with? That’s fireworks right there.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like…” Dean took a second to think, really wanting to get this right. “You spend time getting to know a person – their past, their hopes, their fears and flaws – and they know the same about you, and it’s… that’s a connection that only the two of you have. It’s shared, but unique to just the two of you. And sex feels good anyway, right? But add to that the fact that you _know_ the other person, right down to their bones, and it’s like… I don’t know. Making yourself feel good doesn’t seem to matter as much – you want them to feel good. To feel _loved_.

“And intimacy… it can be platonic, too,” he continued quickly, feeling just a little too exposed. “Wanting to be close to someone, to share lives with them… it doesn’t have to include sex. Me and Sam, we’re probably as connected as two people can get, but I’d rather cut my own nuts off than even _think_ about banging him.”

Cas laughed at that, and Dean smiled, proud of the sound he’d managed to produce from him.

“You and I,” Cas murmured after a few moments, turning the full force of his piercing gaze on Dean. “We’re connected, too?”

Dean huffed nervously, but couldn’t exactly deny it. Cas had seen every atom of his being, had pulled him out of hell and put him back together with not a hair out of place; that was probably the most intimate thing anyone had ever done for him, period.

“Yeah, Cas, we’re connected,” he nodded, voice cracking a little at the end. With a deep breath, and throwing caution to the wind, he reached out to cup the back of Cas’s neck. He didn’t miss the way his eyelids fluttered as he leaned back into the contact, but that was probably just because he was so obviously touch-starved, right? “And we’re gonna figure this out, okay? Whatever this is – whatever you need… we’ll figure it out.”

Cas nodded his head, hair at his nape tickling Dean’s palm, and they lapsed back into a comfortable silence. Only when Dean’s arm started to go numb did he reluctantly pull his hand away, already missing the warmth against his palm. His chest ached faintly when, glancing back at Cas, he realised his eyes had fallen permanently closed at some point, because he made an adorably disgruntled noise and blinked them open again.

Dean couldn’t help his smile, but decided not to comment on it.

~

St. James, Missouri was a last-ditch effort at civilisation before the road hit miles and miles of national park. A spattering of houses nestled firmly into the grassy landscape, sliced in two by a withered high-street with a gas station at each end. It boasted a winery and golf course, obviously to lure nature tourists into using the town as a base, but as they drove down the high-street, the place seemed pretty empty in the dying light.

“It’s off season,” Dean realised aloud. “Looks like it hits town pretty hard.”

It was almost 10pm by the time they pulled off the main road and into a motel parking lot. It didn’t exactly look like the most luxurious of places, but Dean was exhausted after a very trying day of driving and talking about feelings with a celestial being, and had definitely spent nights in worse places.

He left Cas unloading their bags and headed into the office. The only employee was a pock-marked teenager who looked like he would rather have been anywhere else in the world, but Dean paid him little mind as he walked to the counter and pulled his card out of his pocket.

“Can I get a room?” he asked. “Two twins.”

“Um…” The teen at least looked apologetic. “Sorry, dude - we’re having maintenance issues. We’ve only got a couple rooms with heat, and they’re all kings.”

Dean sighed, trying to find the energy to argue. “Can you not just give us some extra blankets?”

“My dad says I can’t legally –“

“Fine,” Dean snapped, and then rubbed a hand over his eyes when the kid physically jumped. “Sorry. I guess we’ll take a king.”

The kid rung him up quickly and handed over a key, obviously keen to get Dean as far away from him as possible. Dean felt bad for just a moment, but settled back into exhaustion before he could really beat himself up too hard. He turned to leave, but paused when he spotted a rack of flyers by the door, all advertising local attractions. They were still on a case, he figured, as he plucked a particularly… _vibrant_ one from its place.

“’Red Bluff Campground’,” he read aloud, feigning ignorance. “Hey, isn’t that where those hikers have been washing up?”

“Huh?” the kid replied, and then spotted the leaflet. “Oh, yeah. I got a friend whose mom works at the morgue – apparently there wasn’t much left of the bodies.”

Dean frowned. “What, like an animal got to them?”

“No,” the kid shook his head. “They were all drained of blood. Practically turned to dust when the cops tried to move them. Matty’s mom said they looked like a juice pouch after you suck out all the juice.”

_That_ was interesting.

“Huh,” Dean replied with a hum. “Guess we’ll have to steer clear of that place, then.”

“Yeah,” the kid nodded seriously

With the intention of doing no such thing, Dean tipped his head in thanks, and then stepped back out into the night. There was a tang to the air that he hadn’t immediately recognised when he’d first got out of the car, but he knew exactly what it was by the time he’d walked back to Cas and picked up his bag.

“Let’s get inside,” he suggested, glancing down at their room number. “There’s a storm coming.”

Sure enough, Dean had only just closed the door behind them when the first crackle of thunder echoed in the distance. There was no rain – not yet – but that didn’t mean it wasn’t coming, and he breathed a sigh of relief, knowing they had at least missed the worst of it.

The room was exactly as gaudy as he had expected. The green and purple wallpaper auto-triggered his gag reflex, and he had to take a deep breath of stale air to sooth himself. There was no kitchenette, no extra chairs or a table, and barely even a wardrobe, which stood without doors in one corner. The bed itself didn’t seem horrendous, until Cas perched on the end of it and grimaced at the pushback from the mattress.

_Great_.

“They didn’t have any twins,” Dean apologised, dropping his bag by the door so he could take a closer look around the room – there really wasn’t a lot to take in.

“It’s fine,” Cas replied, following with his eyes as Dean moved around the space. “I don’t need to sleep, anyway.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. Ever since their conversation in the car, Cas had been suspiciously quiet, and when Dean stopped to really look at him, he realised the angel looked about as exhausted as Dean felt. There was a weary slope to his shoulders, and the bags under his eyes were more pronounced than usual. Though he knew better, it was still sometimes hard for Dean to think of Cas as anything other than invincible, but now? The guy looked around ten seconds from passing out.

“You sure about that?” he asked. “You look beat, man.”

Cas hummed, but then shook his head. “It’s been a long journey. I’ll be fine now.”

Dean didn’t entirely believe him, but he didn’t push any further. Instead, he turned back to his bag and rummaged around until he found a change of clothing that would be comfy enough to sleep in.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he informed Cas, already moving towards the suspiciously clean bathroom. “We’ll start in on the case tomorrow; even if you’re not tired, I sure as hell am.”

There was no lock on the bathroom door, because of course there wasn’t. With a sigh, Dean grabbed a relatively clean towel from a pile on top of the toilet and laid it on the sink, along with his clothes. The water pressure was dogshit, but at least it was warm, and he found himself immediately relaxing as he stepped under the sputtering spray. He spent a few moments just stood there, letting the water dribble over his face and neck, while his mind wandered idly to the case.

He couldn’t think of a monster that would drain a human to the point of near dust. Vampires and Djinn stopped drinking once a person was dead – vampires, because of their reaction to dead man’s blood, and Djinn because… he wasn’t entirely sure, but it had to be for similar reasons, right? Maybe it tasted different, like milk after it had gone bad. What he did know was that humans died from blood loss _well_ before it was all gone. Victims usually looked anaemic, sure, and usually more than a little torn apart, but not _juiced_.

He’d have to talk to Cas about it, see if he had any insight. And while he was thinking about it, there was still the matter of Cas to deal with, too. He wasn’t sure that a single conversation had changed whatever was going on in the guy’s head, but it was a start. At least Dean understood the drive a little more, if not the reason. Though, he supposed, it was pretty easy to confuse one feeling for another, especially when sex was involved – especially when you were new to feeling anything _at all_. He could only imagine how sensitive Cas must have been to every touch, every new sensation –

And… Dean had a boner.

_Dammit_.

For just a moment he thought about ignoring it, letting it dwindle by itself, but it had been a long day, and his body was clearly telling him that he needed to relax. Forcing himself not to think too hard about it, he reached for some of the complimentary moisturiser sat on the corner of the tub with all the other toiletries. It didn’t smell of anything, and he knew that meant it was better for sensitive skin, so he portioned some into his hand and then reached down to tease the head of his dick.

Perfect.

Spreading his knees for better balance, he leaned forwards and pressed his free hand against the tiled wall, head tucked down to shelter his eyes from the spray of water. He let his mind drift, slowly stroking himself all the while, to the conversation he’d had with Cas. It was easy to picture him, confused and horny, craving the closeness of another person in whatever form he could get it. Would the confusion make him aggressive? Rough? His mind flitted back to the video, and the contentment that seemed to have settled over Cas’s frame as he’d buried his face between that guy’s – _Dominic’s_ – cheeks. Almost as though the act were an answered prayer.

Dean’s hole twitched, and he had to stifle a surprised gasp in the crook of his elbow, lest he alert Castiel to what he was doing. His hand quickened, wondering what it would feel like to have a tongue – _Cas’s_ tongue – inside him. To have… _other_ things inside him.

As quickly as he had started, his hand slowed on his dick. Breath coming in short gasps, mind addled with lust, he stared through the water to the half-bottle of moisturiser and realised he could very easily find out. But as soon as the thought had entered his head, a deep rumble in his gut tried to shut it down. Thinking about it was bad enough, but to actually put it into practise? Dean was torn, very aware that this was a precipice – a potential point of no return.

He reached for the bottle.

Forcing himself to take deep breaths, dick heavy and suddenly forgotten between his legs, he squirted a dollop of moisturiser into his hand and rubbed it around, letting it coat his fingers. Then, with a furtive glance, he raised one leg and balanced it on the lip of the tub, opening himself up to… _well_.

He didn’t go straight for his hole – chickened out at the last second – and instead brushed his fingers along his crack, getting used to the sensation. It wasn’t bad. Didn’t really feel like much of anything, if he was being honest with himself, but definitely not bad. Spurred on by that realisation, on the next swipe of his fingers he let one catch and press gently against his hole.

Still not bad.

The pressure was unfamiliar, but not overly painful, and he spent a couple of minutes getting acquainted with the tight little pucker. His dick had softened a little in the interim, but that was okay; he continued to pant softly, far from unaroused regardless of what his dick thought. After another couple of minutes, he took another deep breath, realising he wanted more. When he next pressed against his hole, he held his finger there, testing the pressure, the give. It took him a moment to realise he was holding his breath, and let it out in a nervous chuckle.

And then the tip of his finger slid in.

Dean’s breath caught again, but he had expected it this time, and was able to make himself breathe through it. It still wasn’t bad, he told himself firmly, even as he squirmed a little. It wasn’t bad, but it was _a lot_. He was barely up to the first joint, and he already felt stretched out beyond repair. Regardless, he persisted, pressing his slick finger in further and further until he couldn’t possibly go any deeper.

He wasn’t really sure what to do, then; he felt winded, and every breath he took was a gentle reminder that there was something in his ass that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t bad, he kept telling himself – a little uncomfortable, maybe, but not particularly life changing, either. Was this what he had been so afraid of? It was nothing like the hot clench of sinking into a woman, that was for sure.

It wasn’t disappointing, he decided adamantly. He’d tried it, and it wasn’t really for him – there was no shame in that. All he had to do was withdraw his finger, finish his shower, and pretend none of this had ever – _oh_.

As he’d shifted to pull his finger out, his inner muscles had clenched against the movement, sucking his finger back in. That was… okay, maybe he hadn’t been doing it right. Shifting again, he pumped his finger slowly, experimentally, and found himself adjusting to the fullness relatively quickly.

Cas had longer fingers than him, he thought out of nowhere. He’d be able to reach a little deeper, open Dean up a little further. Would he use his tongue, too? Dean had only ever seen it dart out to lick plump, chapped lips in person, but he let his mind drift to what else it might be able to reach.

His dick was back in the game. Using his free hand, he wrapped his fingers around himself and tugged a couple of times, getting himself back to full hardness. That felt even _better_. His ass clenched sharply again, unexpectedly, around his finger, and he couldn’t help the moan that fell from his lips.

Time for another finger. Dean didn’t know when his body had decided one wasn’t enough, but there was barely any resistance when he added another. The fact he was now furiously pumping his dick in time with his thrusting appendage might had eased the way; he found he didn’t really care, because when he went back with the second finger in tow, he grazed something inside that shot surprising, electric heat from his head right down to the tips of his toes.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” he panted, already searching for the same spot.

He found it a few thrusts later, and his whole body jerked, eyes almost rolling back in his head at the intensity of it. His legs were starting to quiver, struggling to hold him up, and his balls were drawing up tight against where his hand was still flying across his dick. He was close – it was only going to take a couple more seconds –

_“Come for me.”_

Cas’s voice from the video. That was what he was thinking about as he clenched hard around his fingers and shot his load onto the tiled wall. Cas’s voice, and his hands, and his tongue, and his eyes – so _blue_ – and his smile, and the way he laughed –

Dean’s legs very nearly gave out. He managed to throw the hand that had been on his dick out to steady himself, otherwise he would have smacked his head on the shower wall. His chest was still heaving, ass clenching now-painfully around the fingers that had stilled inside. He withdrew them, slowly, and grimaced at the emptiness that was left behind. For a moment, he waited for the panic to set in, legs still shaking as the water washed away any evidence of what had happened. He’d just fingered his ass while thinking about his best friend – his best friend, who was clearly in _crisis_ – and he’d still managed to come harder with a couple of dirty thoughts than a whole handful of times he’d been with _actual women._

His breath caught, rattling around in his hollow chest, as he realised there were tears in his eyes. What was _wrong_ with him? Why was he simply unable to control his thoughts – thoughts that he had been so good at keeping a handle on before any of this mess?

He wasn’t going to cry, he told himself firmly. It was bad enough that he’d gotten off to fingers in his ass while thinking about another man, but crying afterwards? He could practically hear his father turning in his grave. Shame, deep and sharp, bubbled in his gut, and he had to take a moment to just breathe through the nausea that was threatening to spill out of him.

God, if his Dad could see him now.

With shaking hands, he forced himself to move. If he kept moving, he didn’t have to think about what he’d just done. He could ignore the twinge in his ass as he reached for the shampoo, and the twitch in his cock as he soaped his body. He ignored the quiver of his thighs when he climbed from the shower and quickly towelled himself dry – ignored how constricted he felt when he pulled on a pair of briefs and sweatpants and an old, ratty t-shirt – and he _definitely_ ignored the haunted look in his eyes as he towelled his hair dry in the mirror.

He couldn’t ignore the fluttering in his chest that stopped him from opening the bathroom door, though, and had to take a moment, eyes closed, to remind himself how to breathe.

Cas didn’t know what he’d done. As long as he acted normal, nothing had to change. Nothing _had_ changed, because nothing had happened – he’d just taken a shower. He hadn’t become intimately acquainted with his prostate, and he certainly wasn’t still thinking about Cas in that _stupid_ video –

With one last, deep breath, he opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom. Steam followed him out, momentarily cloaking him in a blanket of warmth, but it soon dissipated as he wandered further out into the dark bedroom.

The storm was still raging, was the first thing he noticed, quickly followed by the way the light from Castiel’s phone danced across his face where he laid, propped up against the head of the bed. He hadn’t turned any of the lights on; he _had_ removed his shoes and outer layers, and Dean stared for a moment at the cute, smiling bumblebees that adorned his socks.

“You were a long time,” Cas murmured, eyes not leaving whatever he was looking at on his phone.

“The water pressure was dogshit,” Dean replied, because he didn’t really know how else to respond without catapulting himself into a panic attack. He was tired, right down to his bones, and flopped face first onto the other side of the bed with a small sigh. “This mattress is ass.”

It really was. As he’d landed, there was a brief moment where Dean thought he’d just keep going and fall right through the damned thing to the floor below. It held, but barely, and gave a wheezing groan when he shifted his head against the pillow. But, despite that, Dean found his eyelids getting heavy, the need for sleep outweighing the irritation of the springs that were jabbing him even through the comforter.

“You should get under the covers, Dean,” Cas muttered a few moments later, because he always seemed to know exactly what Dean was thinking even though he _swore_ he couldn’t read his thoughts – only his prayers.

Dean didn’t even want to _think_ about what would happen if Cas could read his thoughts.

“M’sleeping,” he mumbled into the pillow, and was proud of the fact that he only flinched a little when a warm hand reached out to press against the small of his back.

“You’ll get cold,” Cas insisted, even as he was already moving the covers out from under Dean.

Dean, to his credit, was too tired to do anything but let it happen. Cas was incredibly strong, and had him tucked under the itchy blankets in no time, like he weighed next to nothing at all. It was better than being out in the open, Dean decided, instead of letting himself get fixated on Cas’s strength; the springs were more irritating, but a lot of that was negated by how warm and loose he felt, cocooned.

He didn’t think about how much of that looseness was because of what he’d done in the shower.

“You’ll get cold, too,” he slurred instead, brain soft from near sleep. “Y’should get under the covers.”

He felt, rather than saw, when Cas stilled on the bed beside him. Only half awake, he found himself frowning, but after a long second he felt the mattress move and the covers shift, and then there was a warm body pressed close against his. If he had been more awake, he probably would have panicked. As it was, however, he just let out another contented sigh and settled back against the rigid warmth at his side. He floated for a little while, caught somewhere deep between sleep and waking, until a sound dragged him up towards the surface. Blinking his weary eyes open, he rolled and then squinted at the light still coming from Cas’s phone.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice gravelly.

Cas had gotten under the covers, sure, but he was still propped up against the pillows with his phone in his hand. He startled a little at Dean’s voice, cheeks glowing pink under the synthetic light, and glanced away as though he was embarrassed.

“Nothing,” he replied, and quickly switched his phone off. “Just checking my messages.”

“Your messages?” Dean asked, right before he _got_ _it_. “Are you… on _Tinder_ right now?”

“No!” Cas shook his head quickly, defensively, but then his shoulders slumped. “… Grindr.”

“ _Jesus_ , Cas –“

“New people appear dependant on your proximity, so when you enter a new location you’re paired with new potential partners!” Cas continued, as though that made it _any_ better whatsoever. “I updated my location settings while you were showering, and have had a number of matches –“

“You are _not_ wandering around a town you don’t know, in the middle of a storm, at _night_ , looking for sex!” Dean snapped firmly. “Now turn that thing off and go to sleep.”

Shaking his head in disbelief – because how was this his life? – Dean rolled back over and very pointedly closed his eyes (though he doubted he would be sleeping any time soon, thanks to Cas). The room settled back into silence, save for the occasional crack of thunder off in the distance, and for a moment Dean thought maybe Cas really had done as he was told and turned the damn thing off. He breathed a little easier, let his body go a little limper, only to immediately tense again when another alert chirped soon afterwards, swiftly followed by a sharp intake of breath.

“Dean? What’s a Cleveland Steamer?”

“ _Off_!” Dean yelled, quickly reaching back to physically throw the phone across the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet more discussions about feelings, and then some headway is (finally) made with the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some fairly graphic descriptions of a dead body in this chapter, but it's important to the plot, so proceed with caution!

“The internet seems split on a definitive definition,” Cas hummed, once again staring down at his phone.

Around them, the early morning rush continued to flurry through the diner. Dean stared at his mug of coffee, letting the ambient noise wash over him as he only half listened to whatever it was that Cas was talking about.

He hadn’t slept well. The storm had continued long into the night, and while it had been suspiciously dry when they’d left the motel that morning, the thunder had been more than enough to produce an uneasy sleep. Add to that the truly terrible mattress, and a snoring angel that, despite his insistence that he wasn’t tired, had almost immediately fallen asleep, and Dean felt like his head was about to explode.

Cas had also woken up with a boner, which… hadn’t made anything easier. At some point during the night, he had gravitated towards Dean’s warmth, so that by the time he had woken up they were basically plastered together in the middle of the bed. Dean hadn’t wanted to wake him – hadn’t really wanted to move at all – and so he’d let it happen. If he’d wrapped an arm around Cas’s middle, too… well. It was just to stop the guy from moving around so much.

It had been fine – nice, even – until Cas had woken up, pulling Dean from his floaty place of half-sleep with him. He’d immediately frozen, body thrumming with tension against Dean’s own, and it was only as he’d rolled quickly away that Dean had realised the thing poking his thigh _wasn’t_ an errant spring. Something hot that he refused to name had rumbled low in his gut at that realisation, but he hadn’t said anything as Cas had quickly excused himself to the bathroom to “freshen up”. He’d been twenty minutes – Dean wasn’t quite stupid enough not to recognise what he was probably doing in there. The poor bathroom had seen more action in less than twelve hours than Dean had in six months.

They hadn’t talked about it, afterwards. There was no need to – morning wood was natural, and certainly nothing to be alarmed about. Dean knew from experience that just about anything could set it off, and with Cas being so new to the whole experience there was really no wonder he was a little extra sensitive. Instead, to help mitigate the awkward silence that had filled the room, Dean had suggested they find a diner for some much-needed coffee and a chance to plan the hunt.

“All of the websites agree that a Cleveland Steamer must include defecation, though the definitions vary on the volume and intended placement of the faeces,” Cas frowned, words immediately drawing Dean’s attention back to the present. “I’m not sure I understand the appeal. Is defecation something you find arousing, Dean?”

And, of course, because Dean’s life was just awful, that was the exact moment their waitress appeared with Dean’s stack of pancakes. She stared at them for a moment, plate half outstretched, whatever pleasantries that had been almost out of her mouth caught in her throat.

“Um…”

“Thank you,” Dean sighed, taking the plate from her when it seemed she wasn’t going to put it down. Then, pointedly turning to Cas to yank the phone out of his hand and place it on the table between them, he hissed, “No, dude, I do _not_ find defecation arousing.”

The waitress excused herself with a squeak, quickly disappearing through an employee door that Dean assumed led to the kitchen. He imagined the whole staff would be aware of what had just happened within a couple of minutes, and had to rub a hand over his aching eyes to try and stave off the start of a stress headache.

“The waitress seemed uncomfortable,” Cas noticed unnecessarily. “Is defecation during intercourse frowned upon?”

Dean stared at the chocolate syrup oozing from his pancakes, and then gingerly pushed the plate away from him. “Please don’t make me have this conversation with you in such a public place.”

Cas frowned. “So, it _is_ frowned upon?”

“Not… frowned upon,” Dean replied with a sigh, because there was no way this was going to end before Cas got the answers he was looking for, apparently. Best to rip the band-aid off nice and quick. “It’s just… an acquired taste, I guess.”

“You’re meant to _eat_ the –“

“It’s just an expression!” Dean squeaked, lightning fast. “I don’t care if you’re promised the best sex of your life – _never_ put shit in your mouth, got it?”

At the next table, an elderly lady stared at them with a horrified expression.

Dean wanted to die.

“I can’t say it’s something that has ever crossed my mind,” Cas replied with just the hint of a smile. “But good to know.”

“Just…” Dean had to take a deep breath to settle his thudding heart. “We are not having an in-depth conversation about kinks in a diner at ass-o’clock in the morning, so here’s the lowdown – some people like weird stuff, y’know, _in bed_. If you’re into the same thing, great! Have at it. If you’re not, you’re allowed to say no – you’re _always_ allowed to say no. You’ll figure out what you like, what you’re comfortable with, not so comfortable with, and what’s a hard pass the more you… y’know.”

“Experiment?” Cas offered.

“Sure,” Dean replied with a jerk of his head. He definitely had a headache. “If you’re not interested in whatever that person is proposing –“

“A Cleveland Steamer.”

“Sure, a… a Cleveland Steamer…” Dean croaked, “… then you just say _no, thank you_ and find something you are interested in. If it’s a sticking point, the person probably isn’t right for you.”

Cas hummed, bobbing his head in a nod of understanding, while his eyes flicked back to his phone as it pinged with another message. Dean, sensing what was about to happen, leaned over and covered the phone with his hand before Cas could reach for it.

“That _also_ means you aren’t obligated to reply to them if they continue to message you,” he added, before removing his hand so Cas could take the phone back. “You don’t have to sleep with them just because they show a little interest.”

“I know that, Dean,” Cas replied with a roll of his eyes, though he only paused with his attention on the message for a single moment before he tucked the phone away in his pocket without replying.

Dean thought that should probably count as a win.

“So!” he announced after a moment of awkward silence. “Not that I don’t enjoy our little… _heart to hearts_ , but you think we should probably talk about the case?”

“You aren’t going to eat your pancakes?” Cas asked.

“I…” Dean glanced over at them, finding his appetite had very much disappeared. “I’m not hungry.”

Cas frowned, but didn’t push the issue. “Okay. Do you have a plan?”

“Well,” Dean started, reaching to take a sip of his coffee instead. “I spoke a little bit to the kid in the motel office last night – said he had a friend whose mom works in the local morgue. According to her, the bodies were drained near dust by the time the authorities found them.”

“That is odd,” Cas agreed quietly. “And they’re all appearing in the same place?”

“According to Sammy’s research,” Dean nodded. “There’s a bend in the creek just north of the campground – seems like they’re all washing up there.”

“Catching on the embankment as they float downriver?”

“It’s as good a guess as any,” Dean shrugged. “So, take your pick – you wanna hit the morgue, or the forest?”

“I’ll see what I can find at the morgue,” Cas decided with a bob of his head.

“Alright, guess I’m heading to the campsite, then.”

~

Dean dropped Cas off at the local hospital with strict instructions to call him if anything felt even remotely untoward, and then hopped on the highway. The drive was supposed to take around forty minutes, but Dean did it in thirty, hitting the gas as soon as he realised how empty it was. Miles of open land fell away, replaced by thick forestry that seemed to soak up any sound the car made, and he wound the window down, taking in the fresh scent of evergreens, relishing in the cool breeze.

The campsite was nothing spectacular. He almost missed the turn entirely, and had to slam the brakes on to pull onto the winding dirt path in time. A sign told him he was in the right place, and he followed the track down through the trees, brain rattling around in his skull on the uneven road, until the dirt flattened out and a shabby parking lot came into view. It was busier than he had anticipated, so close to the end of the season; hikers stood by their cars, chatting as they readied their boots and bags, and harried-looking parents chased after kids with pop-up tents gripped in their overloaded arms.

At the far edge of the clearing, Dean spotted a ranger’s truck tucked away, along with a couple of ambulances, cop cars, and the county sheriff’s jeep, and he headed in that direction, ignoring the signs pointing towards the pitch site opposite. The gentle babble of the nearby river followed him through the trees, and it was only ten minutes or so before he found another clearing and the source of the water.

It immediately became apparent that something was wrong.

Uniforms bustled around, wrapping tape around the trees to cordon off the bank of the creek. A forensic tent was being erected, and a gaggle of people stood in a half circle by the water’s edge. Dean straightened his tie and then ducked under the nearest tape, flashing his FBI badge at an officer who immediately came trotting over with a startled expression on her face.

“Agent Morello, FBI,” he stated, and the officer immediately stopped in her tracks. “Here to speak with the sheriff.”

“Uh…” the officer looked a little unsure, but guided him towards the riverbank regardless. “Didn’t realise this had alerted the feds.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean shrugged one shoulder, a lie slipping easily from his tongue. “The higher ups at the Bureau are a little concerned the bodies might have drifted in from out of state.”

The officer didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t question him further. “Well, you’re just in time – couple of kids staying at the campsite found another one this morning.”

“Another -?”

_That_ was interesting.

Dean let himself be led through the semi-circle of onlookers and stopped short at the sight that met him at the bank of the river. The sheriff and a park ranger were crouched, heads tucked close together, over a body. Or, Dean thought distantly, what was _left_ of a body.

It looked like the poor woman had melted right into the riverbank. Her skin sagged around bowing bones, completely void of colour, and she seemed impossibly old, though her stylish, dirtied clothes said otherwise. There were, oddly, no immediate signs of distress – no bite marks, or even bruises – but, as Dean took a tentative step closer, it became more and more apparent that the woman had died of unnatural causes. He could practically _see_ the outlines of organs through her paper-thin skin, for Christ’s sake, and her lower legs looked seconds from tearing off where they were still submerged in the gentle current of the creek.

“Sheriff? FBI’s here to see you.”

Dean shook the sheriff’s hand as he got to his feet, eyes fixed on the body all the while, and only forced himself to focus once the man started speaking.

“Agent,” he greeted, voice strained. “I wasn’t aware the Bureau was sending anyone.”

“Last minute decision,” Dean lied again, eyes flicking back to the body at their feet. “Just crossing the Ts.”

“Sure,” the sheriff nodded, and then gestured to the ranger beside him. “This is Anna Paxton, head ranger for the park. I’m Bill Davis from the county sheriff’s office.”

Dean shook the ranger’s hand, nodded his head in greeting, and pulled his badge from his pocket again. “Dean Morello, FBI. You want to tell me what the hell is going on here?”

The sheriff had enough presence of mind to shoo the gaggle of rangers and officers surrounding them away, and they all slunk back to whatever it was that they were supposed to be doing.

“Honestly?” he murmured once he was sure they were all occupied with something else. “Damned if I have the slightest clue.”

“This is the fourth body in a couple of weeks,” the ranger agreed. “All found somewhere along this bend, and all… looking like _that_.”

Dean bobbed his head again, eyes drifting back to the body. He didn’t know why, but something didn’t seem right – less right than the glaringly obvious. “No signs of struggle?”

“Well… no?” the sheriff glanced at the ranger as though he thought Dean was stupid. “Seems pretty clear they were already dead by the time they washed up, Agent.”

Dean schooled his expression, even as something clicked into place. “You’re sure they washed up?”

“Um -?”

“Because, aside from where she’s actually in the water, her clothes are bone dry.”

He was right. The body hadn’t looked right, _completely void of blood_ aside, and it was because barely a hair was out of place. Even if she had just fallen into the river and drowned, the current would have smacked the body against rocks, debris, and soaked it through, but there was nothing to even hint that that had occurred. Hell, put the blood back, and she'd be in better shape than any of them.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Paxton whispered, eyes flying to the sheriff. “He’s right.”

Ideas already forming in his head, Dean asked, “The kids who found her – when did they call it in?”

“About an hour ago,” Davis replied, eyes wide.

“Any guess at how long she’d already been here?”

“Couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours before that,” Paxton ascertained. “There’s always plenty of people up to watch the sunrise – someone would have seen her.”

“So not long enough to have just… dried out naturally,” Dean nodded. “Okay.”

“Agent, what you’re suggesting,” Davis shook his head in disbelief. “You think someone _put_ her here?”

Someone, or some _thing_ – that was the real question, wasn’t it?

“Were the other bodies in the same condition?” he asked, already glancing around the immediate area for other clues that might have been missed.

“I don’t… I think so?” Davis shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry, it’s been a crazy couple of weeks – I didn’t notice.”

“Not to worry,” Dean replied, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “This is exactly why the FBI is dispatched – we can get a fresh perspective. My colleague is at the mortuary right now; I’ll give him a call, see if we can’t run any tests that would determine whether or not the bodies were ever fully submerged.”

He stepped away from them with another quick nod, already pressing the phone to his ear. Cas picked up on the third ring.

“Dean?”

“Hey,” he greeted. “Another body’s just turned up – how’s _your_ day going?”

“Another -?” Cas started, and then sighed. “I suppose it’s in the same excellent condition as the ones here?”

“Yep.”

“With the same four puncture marks on the inner thigh?”

“With the –?”

Dean span on the spot, already waving to catch the attention of the nearest paramedic. He came trotting over, brow furrowed, and Dean gestured to the gloves that were sticking out of his breast pocket.

“Which thigh?” he continued into the phone, ushering the paramedic along with him back towards the body.

“The left.”

They crouched beside the body, Davis and Paxton watching on with concerned eyes, and Dean held his hand out for the paramedic’s gloves. He produced a second pair from another pocket, along with a small pair of scissors.

“What are we looking for?”

Dean had already grabbed the left leg, gently shifting it each way to get a look from all angles. It felt like an empty plastic bag in his hands. “Puncture marks.”

The woman’s sweatpants, where dirty, were intact, and the paramedic leaned down to expertly cut along the seam. As her paper-thin skin was exposed, it became very apparent that she was sporting what Dean assumed were the same marks as the other victims. They were deep, down to brittle bones, but clean, and placed in a triangular-shaped pattern. There was no blood left, but Dean could easily imagine how much the wounds must have poured.

“This, here?” the paramedic pointed out an invisible line directly through the marks. “That’s where the femoral artery is – _was_. There won’t be anything in it, now, I guess.”

“You get that, Cas?” Dean asked into the phone, only to be met with the sound of rustling paper.

“Yes,” Cas hummed a moment later. “I have the coroner’s reports in front of me – they all confirm puncture wounds in the same place. Although… the cause of death has still yet to be determined.”

“Just means they can’t rule out the idea they were drained after they were killed,” Dean explained, and ignored the horrified expression on both Davis’s and Paxton’s faces. “Any info in those reports about samples taken from their clothes? Traces of river water? Because the body I’m looking at right now is bone dry.”

Cas paused for a moment. “Even though it’s just been found?”

“Yep,” Dean nodded. “Girl’s legs are in the creek, but there’s not a drop of water anywhere else.”

“So you’re suggesting –“

“It might be a set up?” Dean murmured, turning away from his onlookers for a moment so he could speak more candidly. “I don’t know, man, but something definitely isn’t right here. Drowning would have been a pretty easy cause of death to prove, right?”

“I agree,” Cas replied. “I’ll see if I can find any more information in these reports and call you back.”

“Great, thanks,” Dean replied. “And in the meantime, I guess I’ll sweep the area, see if there’s anything hanging around that the locals might have missed.”

“Be careful, Dean.”

Dean paused for a moment, touched by Cas’s concern. It was unwarranted, of course – Dean could definitely handle himself – but it still felt nice to know someone cared about his wellbeing. Not a lot of people did.

“Yeah,” he grunted, and had to clear his throat. “You, too.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds something that might help them with the case, has an infuriating conversation with Sam, and comes to a life-changing realisation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's stated in the tags, but just an additional warning for panic attacks in this chapter, in case that's a thing for anyone <3

There weren’t any more witnesses at the campsite. Even the boys who had found the body had nothing else to add, and Dean got the distinct impression that their mother was about to rip his head off if he didn’t back off, so he didn’t push for more information.

“Are there any points of interest in the local area?” he asked Paxton once he had re-joined the crime scene.

The body had been moved into the back of an ambulance in his absence, and the forensic tent had been erected in its place. Campers were beginning to gather by the police tape, quite possibly alerted to what had happened by Dean’s sniffing around. He refused to feel bad about that – it wasn’t his job to wrangle nosy civilians away from crime scenes.

“Points of interest?”

“Anything that might be linked. Old ruins, archaic writing, crop circles… I don’t know – monoliths?”

Paxton stared at him blankly. “No.”

“And you’ve had no reports of strange activity? Weird sightings? Cold spots?”

“You mean other than four dead bodies? No, no strange activity –“ Paxton paused. “Wait, does strange weather count?”

“Strange _weather_?”

“Well, yeah,” Paxton continued with a bob of her head. “The weather reports have been pretty off recently. Campers come expecting it to be a little chilly, sure, but we’ve been having _storms_.”

Dean cast his mind back to the motel, and the thunder he had been able to hear near constantly all night. They had stayed some forty miles away; could it really have been the same storm that had kept him up all night?

“And there isn’t always rain, either,” Paxton continued earnestly. “I know the two aren’t mutually exclusive, but you kinda expect a downpour at some point during a thunderstorm, right? The air gets all electric and damp, but sometimes the rain just… doesn’t come.”

“Huh.”

“Even the lightning,” Paxton kept going. “I know it has to hit somewhere, right – like, _logically_ , I know that – but it’s all striking in the same area. Grass is scorched, trees are coming down… it’s almost like the storms are homing in on something.”

_Huh_.

“Can you show me?” Dean asked, already gesturing for Paxton to take the lead.

“It’s on the other side of the river,” she replied. “Just under the bluffs. It’ll be… a bit of a hike.”

“Lead the way.”

~

He really regretted not packing a pair of hiking boots. Shoes were something he tended to splurge on – he always had to be ready to run, and having them fly off or the sole wear down could be the difference between life and death in their line of work – but his $200 FBI Oxfords were definitely struggling in the deep underbrush and rocky terrain. Paxton seemed to find this somewhat amusing, which did even less for his already souring mood.

They’d had to follow the creek a couple of miles before there was a place thin and shallow enough to cross safely. It had then been a trek back the way they’d come on the other side of the embankment, and Dean was starting to think it would have been worth getting wet and cold just to wade through a deeper part of the creek and cut their hike time in half.

“It’s not much further,” Paxton promised, guiding him down a track that began to lead them away from the creek and deeper into the trees. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

The bluffs loomed ahead, rusty and imposing, and Dean stared up at them for a moment, awed. A bird cawed somewhere ahead, out of sight, and he felt suddenly very connected to everything around him, and ridiculously small.

“I love it out here,” Paxton murmured, almost as though she had been reading his mind. “The campsite’s always busy, even out of season, but out here? You could go a full day and not see another soul. It’s peaceful.”

“I bet,” Dean agreed quietly.

A few feet down the track they were met with an incline, and Dean was man enough to accept Paxton’s hand when she held it out to pull him up the slope. The path was a little muddy from heavy use, and his shoes were already ruined – he didn’t want to add a dirty monkey suit to it when he invariably ended up on his ass.

Once they were on more stable ground, Paxton strode ahead and pulled back a particularly dense thicket with careful hands. “The worst of it is just through here.”

As he passed her, Dean realised for the first time that Paxton was just his usual type. A little younger than him, maybe, but not too much so. Petite, _perky_ , with bright blue eyes and a kind smile. Ten years ago, he would have noticed immediately, turned the charm on, and got her back to his motel room faster than a dog with a bone. Hell, if she’d been game, he probably would have railed her against a tree – he’d had sex in weirder places.

He didn’t do that now.

Instead, he stumbled through the thicket into a clearing of sorts, and was met with a felled tree so huge he had to stop for a moment to simply take it in. The ground underfoot was indeed charred, and he stepped cautiously towards the trunk, glancing around all the time. The air was ripe with the smell of ozone and burnt wood, and it clung to the insides of his nostrils.

“Thank God no-one was out here when it fell,” Paxton sighed, coming up behind him. “Would have been more than four bodies to contend with if there had been. Lucky enough that nothing has set on fire yet.”

Dean hummed in agreement and peered down at where the log had split. The wood was cracked, fissures of singed wood etched deep into its body. A quick glance at the stump it had fallen from offered the same results.

“I’m still not really sure how this will help your investigation,” Paxton confessed as Dean straightened again. “But feel free to take a look around. There are marks on some of the other trees just ahead, and there are some broken rock formations a little further still.”

Dean nodded again, already moving in the direction Paxton was pointing. Just as she had said, a little further up the path he found more trees with similar scorch marks to the one that had fallen, and a little further still he came across an outcrop of huge rocks half-buried amongst the trees. He could hear Paxton shuffling around behind him, but paid her no mind as he approached the rocks. Here, too, there were obvious signs that lightning had struck, and he ran his hand over the surface of the nearest stone, turned black from damage.

That was when he spotted the tunnel.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, angling himself around the rocks to get a better look.

The entrance was small, facing away from the path, and would have been easy to miss if he hadn’t been looking. It was big enough to just about fit a person if they were prepared to crouch and suck in their gut, and as he peered into the darkness, he realised it went down further than he could see.

“Hey, Paxton?” he called, glancing up only momentarily. “You got a flashlight?”

One appeared near his head a few moments later, and he took it with a quiet thanks. Paxton leaned over the boulders, trying to catch a glance at whatever it was he’d found.

“There are caves like this all over the park,” she told him once she realised what he’d found. “They don’t go very deep – usually animals make their nests in them.”

Dean, having been about to try and jimmy himself through the hole, paused. “Are you telling me there might be a bear in there?”

“Well,” Paxton hummed. “Maybe? There aren’t tonnes of bears around here, but we’ve had a few sightings. Judging by the size, it’s more likely you’re gonna find a pissed off mama raccoon and a bunch of hungry babies attempting to hibernate.”

Dean pulled his gun out of his belt, and rolled his eyes when Paxton opened her mouth in a horrified gasp.

“In case it _is_ a bear,” he tutted. “Unless they come at me with tiny knives, I think I can probably take on a couple raccoons without blowing their heads off.”

“Just… please don’t die in there.”

“I’ll do my best,” Dean grinned, and then ducked into the hole.

It was a tight squeeze, as he’d expected, and he had to keep his head tucked low against his chest to keep from accidentally knocking himself out against the ceiling. He shuffled along on his knees, and it was slow going; his cheap suit scraped against the walls and ceiling, and the noise would surely alert any animals hiding in the depths to his presence long before he came across them.

Whether that was a good thing or not, he wasn’t entirely sure.

He was just beginning to think it was a stroke of luck that he wasn’t particularly claustrophobic when, out of nowhere, the floor suddenly opened up and he toppled down onto a cavern floor below. He landed heavy on his arm, and pain, sharp and jarring, zipped all the way up his body. It wasn’t broken, he decided gingerly, but it sure as hell was going to leave a bruise.

“You okay down there?” Paxton’s voice drifted down to him, and he clambered to his feet, rotating his arm out to alleviate some of the pain.

“Found a cavern,” he called back up the tunnel. “Looks like it goes deeper than we thought.”

A quick surveillance with his flashlight showed the space was at least twenty feet deep, maybe ten high. Dean was some six feet tall, and he could reach a hand up and still not touch the ceiling – a startling difference after the tunnel he had just forced himself through.

It was empty, that much was clear, and Dean pocketed his gun again at the realisation. Light spilled in from the tunnel entrance set into the wall, and that, along with his flashlight, gave him a fairly good impression of the place. Animal bones scattered the floor, but that wasn’t entirely unexpected. He wandered around in a loose circle, keeping to the nearest wall at all times, but the most interesting thing he found was the beginning of a stalagmite forming in the back corner.

And then he spotted the nest.

Hidden from the beam of his flashlight by another jagged corner, he hadn’t spotted it at first glance. A nest in a cave in the forest wasn’t a particularly strange thing to find, he reasoned, but as he stepped closer, as his flashlight caught more in the darkness, he realised just how _large_ it was, and wondered with no small trepidation what kind of animal was big enough to warrant it. Peering over the thorny lip, he counted six blood-red eggs huddled together in the middle, each one bigger than a grapefruit.

_Definitely_ weird.

“Hey, Paxton?” he called out, voice echoing in the darkness. “You know anything about eggs?”

There was a pregnant pause, followed by a muffled, “ _Eggs_?”

“Yeah,” he reiterated, and reached out cautiously to pick one up. It was bigger than the span of his hand, heavy, and as he rotated it slowly, it started to tingle along his palm, as though tiny pins were piercing his skin. Dean didn’t know a lot about eggs, other than he liked his scrambled and covered in hot sauce… but he knew they weren’t supposed to feel so _alive_.

“How big are they? And what colour?” Paxton’s voice filtered through again. “Could be a cave swallow’s nest, but they’re more likely snake eggs.”

Dean did _not_ want to meet the snake that had laid eggs this big.

“They’re… _huge_ ,” he described helpfully. “And red.”

Another pause, and then, “Did you say _red_?”

“Yep,” Dean nodded, though he knew she couldn’t see him. With a final glance around the cave, he secured his hold on the egg and headed back for the tunnel. “I’m coming back out – I’ll show you.”

With both hands full and unable to balance him, it was harder for Dean to scramble back up the tunnel, but he persisted, and found he breathed a little easier as he pushed himself through the mouth of the hole and stumbled back out into the fresh air. Miraculously, the egg was still intact. He handed it to Paxton, who took it with reverent fingers and held it up to the light to better see it from all angles.

“I’ve _never_ seen an egg like this before,” she murmured, eyes transfixed on its smooth surface. “I can’t think of anything around here that would be big enough to lay something like this.”

“Not a cave sparrow, then?” Dean hummed, and grinned when Paxton rolled her eyes.

“Not a cave sparrow,” she confirmed, and then her eyes lit up. “Do you think… could it be a new species? And we found it?”

“Maybe,” Dean replied, though truthfully, he didn’t have the faintest clue.

“Holy crap,” Paxton whispered, more to herself than, Dean thought, to him. After a moment of simply staring, her brow began to furrow. “Wait, is it… tingling?”

“You noticed it, too, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s…” she grimaced, but didn’t move to put it down. “It’s prickly.”

“Like pins and needles, right?”

“Like lightning tickling my skin.”

Dean glanced around them, at the scorched ground and felled trees, the cracked rocks and residual smell of ozone drifting past on the breeze, and realised he had absolutely no idea what the hell they were dealing with.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Like lightning.”

~

He parted ways with Paxton back at the campsite with a (false) promise to mention her to his superiors if it turned out the egg _was_ a new species. In her defence, he still had no idea what they were dealing with – it very well _could_ have been a new species, but probably not a simple bird or snake like Paxton thought.

Sam called him around twenty minutes into his drive back towards town, and Dean picked up quickly, eager to hear about how the Wendigo case was going.

“Sammy,” he greeted, resting his phone on his thigh as he continued to drive.

“Hey,” Sam replied, voice a little more harried than Dean had expected. “Where are you? I’ve been calling.”

Dean frowned and flicked carefully through his phone – now he was out of the forest, he saw he had three missed calls.

“Out of cell range, I guess,” he huffed. “Why, the Wendigo case go sour? Or you just miss me?”

“Sure, I just missed you,” Sam snarked, and then paused. “And the, um… Garth didn’t need my help, after all.”

“What?”

“He finished up a couple hours after you guys left, so I didn’t need to go help him.”

Something in his tone seemed off. Dean knew his little brother well enough to know when he was being lied to, and Sammy was definitely hiding something from him.

Two could play at that game.

“You know,” Dean sighed, laying the hurt in his voice on real thick. “If you didn’t want to do this hunt with me, you could have just told me –“

“What? Dean, no –“

“Because I know you wouldn’t make up a fake case just to force me and Cas into spending more time together,” he continued, and was met with a very telling silence on the other end of the phone.

“Did it at least work?”

“ _Sam_!”

“You were driving me nuts!” Sam defended, and Dean had to thunk his head back against his headrest lest he say something he couldn’t take back. “You’ve been acting weird ever since you found that stupid video, and Cas was doing that scrunched up face he makes when he’s sad and trying to hide it, and you are both _idiots_!”

“There’s no need to be _rude_ –“

“I’m not going to apologise for wanting you to go back to being friends again,” Sam cut him off firmly, and Dean sighed.

“We weren’t –“ he murmured, barely watching the road as he idly followed the egg rolling around on his dashboard. “It wasn’t like that. It’s not like we stopped being _friends_ , Sam.”

“Did you tell him that?”

And Dean paused, because… he hadn’t told Cas that. He actually couldn’t remember the last time he had physically told Cas that he was his friend. But… Cas _knew_ , right? He had to know that Dean cared about him – cared about him so much he was pretty much on a par with _Sam_ , for God’s sake. It was _because_ he cared that he had been acting crazy in the first place.

“He knows,” Dean replied, voice more confident than he felt. “I don’t need to tell him.”

“You sure about that?” Sam asked softly. “Feels nice to have a verbal confirmation every once in a while.”

_Dammit_ , Sam. He always had to point out the glaringly obvious things that Dean seemed to still somehow miss. He was too smart for his own good, that kid.

“So, the case,” Dean cleared his throat, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was sidestepping Sam’s question. “It’s a real puzzler.”

He thought that Sam might call him on his shit, but he just sighed and didn’t push the matter any further. Kid was smart in more ways than one, it seemed.

“What do you mean?”

Dean gave him a quick run-down of events, from the condition of the bodies, to the freak storms, and then the nest of eggs they had found.

“I can’t think of anything that connects it all,” he finished, and rubbed a hand across his face. He was exhausted. “I’m heading back to pick Cas up from the morgue, but when I talked to him it didn’t seem like he had any better ideas on what the hell we could be dealing with, either.”

“Yeah, it’s…” Sam seemed just as stumped. “You think that maybe… maybe it’s not something supernatural? Could just be a couple of coincidences –“

“I was starting to think so,” Dean admitted, before his eyes drifted back to the egg again. “But there’s something weird about the bodies, man, and this egg. It… it tingles when you touch it.”

“It… _tingles_?”

“Like it’s giving you constant static shocks,” Dean added. “It’s… it’s not normal, that’s for sure.”

“Alright,” Sam acquiesced, letting out a slow breath. “Well, I’ll have a look around the bunker, see if I can’t match any of the reports to anything we have in the lore.”

“Because you’re at home, because you tricked me into doing this case with Cas –“

“Not apologising!” Sam cut him off with a laugh. “So hang up the phone and think about what you’re gonna say to him, got it?”

“Sam, we’re good – I don’t need to talk to him –“

“Talk. To. Him,” Sam reiterated, pausing between each word for effect. “Before I knock your heads together.”

Without another word, or even a goodbye, Sam hung up.

_Asshole_.

And yet… something in his words rang true. For all his flaws, Sam had always been very perceptive when it came to people and feelings in a way that Dean had never been remotely close to emanating. Sammy knew what people were thinking just by looking at them, could fit feeling to motive to drive until he had painted a map of a person’s whole life in his head without ever having said a single word to them. When he did speak, he was good at talking, too; he had a knack for getting right to the heart of the matter, sometimes without saying the actual words at all.

Dean wasn’t like that. He was all clumsy action and stunted thoughts. Words often clogged in his mouth, which made him feel stupid, which made him feel angry, and the whole process looped and looped until he had to kill something to quieten the screaming in his head. Emotion was even harder to comprehend; it was easier to avoid feelings as much as he could, and where he couldn’t, he was infinitely better at showing rather than telling. Cas knew that about him – he had to, because Dean didn’t know where to even _begin_ trying to find the words to describe what Cas meant to him. It sometimes terrified him, the things he would do for Cas – the things he _had_ done for Cas. How was he supposed to put all that into words? He barely understood it, half of the time, so how could Sam expect him to be capable of verbalising it? Sam _knew_ he wasn’t good with words, for Christ’s sake.

When Dean thought about Cas, his chest ached. He missed him like a limb, like he was an extension of himself, of Sam, of their little family, and when they were together the grand vastness that was life never felt quite as daunting. Cas was like the sun in that respect, drawing Dean into his orbit and anchoring him within reality. Of course, he was also the single most infuriating being Dean had ever encountered in his life, but even that seemed to somehow fade into the background under the warming beams of Castiel’s light.

He shone so, _so_ brightly.

Beneath the once-borrowed meat suit and the bitchy sarcasm lived a creature so fundamentally _good_ that Dean sometimes had trouble reconciling him with his bag-of-dicks brethren. He had been misguided before, and was likely to be at some point again, but his heart – his loyal, loving heart – was always in the right place. It was always with them. Dean didn’t know quite what they had done to deserve Cas’s unyielding devotion, only that his life had been irrevocably changed for the better since having met him.

Dean _loved_ him - and if it weren’t for his seatbelt, he would have been flung directly through the windshield as that realisation made him slam the brakes on the car. He felt winded, and not just because the belt had pulled a tight burn across his chest.

He was _in love_ with Cas.

“Shit,” he gasped, barely enough air making it into his suddenly heaving lungs. “ _Shit_!”

All at once, his skin felt too tight around his bones, and the car was entirely too small, and he had to get out, get away, find somewhere he could _breathe_ –

He put his full bodyweight against the car door and fell unceremoniously out onto the empty tarmac below, gasping for air, choking back tears, sight swimming and head pounding. His whole body was trembling as he fell onto hands and knees, desperately trying not to retch, and it was all he could do not to collapse completely.

How had this happened? _When_? He wasn’t gay, so how was it even possible? In any other world, in any other moment, he could have easily written it off as a mistake, as confusion, but he knew, deep in the heart of him, that that was a lie. It was a lie, because even now, panting and spitting bile into the dirt, he ached for Cas’s touch, his words, to soothe the pain away.

Because he _would_ soothe the pain, because Dean _loved_ him. Just being near him was enough to balm whatever ailed Dean, and he felt stupid, sick, that it had taken him so long to understand why. Why the thought of Cas falling into the arms of another made Dean want to kill something. Why Cas forming friendships, _relationships_ , with other people made him want to scream – because Cas wasn’t _meant_ to be with other people; he was meant to be with _Dean_.

But in the same second, Dean knew that could never happen. Cas deserved to be with someone as good as him, as whip-smart and as beautiful, and Dean wasn’t any of those things. Everything he touched turned to shit, and he couldn’t – _wouldn’t_ – let that happen with Cas, too. Just being his friend was risky enough, and Dean knew he couldn’t survive losing him altogether, so he had to stow this crap and pretend it wasn’t happening. He could do that.

He could probably do that.

His hands were still shaking when he forced himself into a sitting position, back resting against the side of the car, but he didn’t quite feel like his gut was going to revolt at any second any longer. After a deep breath, and then another, he dragged himself back into the car, stooping only to fish the miraculously still-intact egg out of the footwell before slamming the door behind him. His shaking hands fought with the glove compartment, and he managed to get it open long enough to cram the egg inside beside the Colt and a half-eaten cheeseburger that he couldn’t remember having put there.

In his focus, it took him a few moments to realise his phone was ringing, and then another few seconds of fishing around in Baby’s nooks and crannies to find where it had disappeared. It was under his thigh, of all places, and, assuming it was Sammy again, he hit _accept call_ blind and pressed it up to his ear.

“Yeah?”

“Dean? What’s wrong?”

Well, _fuck_. The very last person he had expected a call from was _Cas_. Cas, who sounded as near frantic as Dean felt.

“What… what do you mean?” he managed, breath still a little claggy in his throat.

“Your prayer?” Cas replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I got a sudden flash of distress, Dean; where are you?”

Dean, in the midst of his meltdown, had accidentally prayed to Cas. He closed his eyes for a moment and squeezed them so tightly together that he saw spots behind his eyelids, and had to take another couple of deep breaths before he could speak again – before he could even begin to form a cohesive thought.

“No, that’s – I’m okay, Cas, I just… I think I’m having a panic attack.”

In any other situation, he would never have admitted to that. Then again, in any other situation, he very much doubted he would have had a panic attack in the first place. Even now, he still felt unsteady, like he was a few seconds away from shaking apart completely. His hand, holding his phone to his ear, was uncomfortably sweaty, and he couldn’t quite get a full breath into his chest.

“A… panic attack?”

He couldn’t even blame the surprise in Cas’s voice; it wasn’t exactly like he made a _habit_ of forgetting how to breathe, after all. 

“Do you have panic attacks frequently?”

“No, no,” Dean shook his head, only afterwards remembering that Cas couldn’t actually see him. “It’s fine, though; I’m coming to get you –“

“You’re _driving_?”

“I… had to stop.”

Dean hated how his voice sounded, all tight and raw. He tried to swallow, but it felt sharp in his throat, and he almost choked before he could force another breath into his lungs. Distantly, he was aware that his cheeks were wet, but he made no effort to wipe the tears from his face.

“Cas,” he suddenly found himself begging, immediately too far gone to even care how it must sound. “Can you just… will you just talk to me for a sec?”

Cas’s voice had always had a hypnotic quality. Each intonation held magnitudes – smoke, and life, and the universe itself. If Dean were being honest with himself – which he seemed to be doing now, apparently – he could admit that Cas’s voice sounded just as much like home than the thought of Sammy or the Impala did. When he heard Cas’s voice, even if it was marred with anger, he knew he was safe.

Jesus, Sam had really made him open the floodgates on everything, hadn’t he? This was why Dean _didn’t do feelings._

He was met with silence for a moment, and was already beginning to form some kind of excuse when Cas replied, “Talk? About what?”

Dean didn’t even try to hide his sigh of relief. “Doesn’t matter, just… I’m all in my head right now, man, and I just need you to –“

“I was escorted through paediatrics on the way to the morgue,” Cas cut over him immediately, and despite everything, Dean felt himself huff out a shaky laugh.

“I’m not really sure talking about sick kids is gonna make me less anxious, pal.”

Cas huffed, a noise Dean had come to recognise as fond exasperation, and continued, “I only mentioned it because there was a dog at the nurse’s station. The nurse said he was a therapy dog, but I was unaware that canines were capable of completing the necessary psychology examinations in order to qualify as a trained therapist.”

A startled snort of laughter left Dean’s mouth, followed by another, and he had to take a second to cackle hysterically into his hand. God, he was so, _so_ in love with Cas.

“Dean? Are you okay? I don’t understand what’s so funny –“

“I’m good,” Dean promised, tamping his laughter down enough to get words out. “You just… I don’t think the dogs have to get degrees, Cas.”

“Then what could _possibly_ qualify them for such an important role?”

“I don’t know,” Dean replied, and found himself grinning even though his hands were still trembling a little. “People like dogs, man. I think they’re just supposed to make you feel good, y’know? Not prescribe Xanax.”

“Ah,” Cas murmured, and Dean could just imagine his embarrassed frown. “That makes a lot more sense.”

“Did you at least pet him?” Dean asked, smile gentler now. “Or just question his qualifications?”

“He wasn’t very talkative,” Cas reasoned seriously, “but yes, he did seem to enjoy it when I scratched behind his ears.”

Dean could just imagine the contented smile on Cas’s face as he’d petted the dog, and it made his heart ache in his chest. Speaking to them with the expectation of receiving a coherent answer aside (which… Dean had actually never thought about – could angels speak dog?), Cas was always gentle with animals. Kids, too. Hell, he was just gentle, full stop, and it sometimes awed Dean how much restraint it must take him on a daily basis as a _multi-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent_ not to accidentally overestimate his power. 

But that was just how _good_ Cas was, he supposed. That was why Dean loved him.

“Dean?” Cas asked, voice drawing Dean from his thoughts even though it was quiet. “Is this working? Do you need me to keep going?”

Dean took a deep breath and let it out again. He was still a little shaky, and his exhaustion was beginning to make itself known again, but it didn’t feel like his chest was about to catch on fire anymore. He took another breath, just to be sure, and that settled him even further.

“I think…” he started, and even his voice sounded more even – _thank God_. “I think the worst has passed. Yeah, I’m good. I’m gonna come get you, okay?”

“Are you sure-?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he insisted, and it wasn’t even a lie. Not a big one, anyway. “I’ve got a gift for you, anyway, courtesy of some cave I found near the campground.”

That immediately seemed to peak Cas’s attention. “You found something?”

“Not sure,” Dean replied honestly, as he reached out to start Baby’s ignition. “But it’s pretty weird.”

“Coming from you? That usually indicates it’s something to be extremely wary of,” Cas hummed his agreement. “Are you close?”

“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes away?” Dean guessed as he checked his rear-view mirror and then peeled away. “You all done?”

“I have a copy of all the reports they could give me. I’ll wait for you in the parking lot.”

“Cool,” Dean nodded, and then paused for a moment. “And, uh… Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Thanks,” he murmured, and even though it made his throat feel a little constricted again, he really meant it.

Cas barely even paused as he replied, “Always, Dean.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean pretends he's okay, Cas sees right through it, and John Winchester proves (once again) just how much of an asshole he really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a head's up - there’s some underage drinking in this chapter.
> 
> There's also an instance of verbal abuse of a child that includes a homophobic slur, as well as mentions of physical abuse. If that's something that might trigger you, maybe skip the last 500 words. #JohnWinchesterIsADick

True to his word, when Dean pulled up into the hospital parking lot some fifteen minutes later, Cas was waiting for him by the entrance. Dean had worried, during the drive, that seeing him might make him start to panic again, but all he felt was a deep ache in his chest as he watched him stride over.

He could do this, he told himself firmly. He could keep his feelings locked up tight and go on like they always had – he had to.

Plastering a grin on his face, he reached over and wound the passenger window down as Cas approached. “Carpool for Miss Daisy?”

Cas rolled his eyes, just like he always did when Dean said something that he didn’t entirely understand, and slid into the car without a word. He then, with a single-minded focus Dean had only seen in him a couple of times before, unceremoniously reached across the space between them and pulled him into a crushing hug.

Dean’s brain short-circuited.

“You scared me,” Cas murmured, his hands shifting from the back of Dean’s neck to his shoulders, where they stayed as he pulled back just far enough to catch Dean’s eye. “Are you alright?”

Dean’s brain was still only working with backup power, it seemed, because all he could focus on was how _good_ Cas smelled. How had he never noticed before? Earthy, and warm, and masculine, with just a hint of something otherworldly that Dean couldn’t quite place; the scent made his gut clench with want. How had he managed to hide what Cas really meant to him from himself for so long? He _itched_ to reach out and pull Cas towards him, wrap him up in his arms and never let go, and it struck him all over again how terribly, devastatingly stupid he had been – how stupid he was _still_ being. 

Cas was his friend – his absolute best friend in the entire world – and he was struggling with his own shit. Dean knew he could be a selfish bastard, but even _he_ knew it wouldn’t be right to dump anything else on the guy when he was already so obviously confused about his own surge of new feelings. It wasn’t fair to expect Cas to worry about him when they had so many more important things to concern themselves with.

With a new resolve, Dean forced himself to smile as he replied, “I’m fine, Cas. No big deal.”

Cas didn’t seem convinced; his expression was pinched as he looked at Dean, seemingly trying to find something in his expression that would either confirm or dispel his worry. Dean did his best to appear relaxed, pulling away from Cas’s hold just enough so he could settle back into his seat and ready himself for the drive back to the motel, but he could feel Cas’s eyes burning a hole into the side of his head all the same.

“Would you…” Cas started, voice small and uncertain. “Would you like to talk about it?”

That was the very _last_ thing Dean wanted; Cas must have realised the same thing, because he glanced down with a deep frown when he caught whatever emotions must have been playing out across Dean’s face.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Dean replied, aiming for decisive and immediately recognising he’d failed when his voice cracked at the end. Then, because he hated the worried expression on Cas’s face, and he felt like maybe he needed to come up with some sort of cover, he continued, “I’m just tired, okay? We had a long drive yesterday, and then the storm and the shitty mattress – I didn’t exactly sleep well. And then we ended up hiking a lot farther than I’d expected, and I didn’t have the right shoes, and this whole case doesn’t make a damn lick of sense, and –“

He was rambling. He knew it; Cas knew it, too, if his expression was anything to go by. With a deep breath, Dean forced himself to stop talking, gripping the steering wheel in his hands to ground himself instead. It only marginally helped, but it was better than nothing, and he sat there for a moment in complete silence, not daring to look at Cas in case he accidentally let slip what was swirling around in his head.

“It’s fine,” he murmured instead, more for his own benefit than for Cas’s. “I’m just exhausted. It’s not a big deal, and it doesn’t need to be one. It was just a blip.”

Fully prepared for that to be the end of the conversation, he reached out and started the car. She purred to life around them, and Dean felt immediately soothed by the gentle rumble. Beside him, Cas sat silently, and when Dean dared a glance before he pulled away, his expression was hard to read.

Dean didn’t let himself think too hard about it.

~

When Dean was 14 years old, John had dropped him and Sammy off at Bobby’s house and disappeared on a hunt for close to three months. Dean had begged to go with him, had been on hunts before and was desperate to prove himself further, but John had simply dragged him from the car by the scruff of his neck and deposited him on Bobby’s porch before driving away without a word.

It wasn’t like he disliked being at Bobby’s – in fact, just the opposite. At Bobby’s, he didn’t have to worry about where their next meal was going to come from, or whether Sammy would be safe. At Bobby’s, he could relax a little, safe in the knowledge that he had backup when it came to Sammy’s care.

It was just… a little hard to trust in it all.

But Bobby, in his ever unwavering, knowingly silent support, had taken one look at Dean on his porch that day – at the tears in his eyes, and the tremble in his hands – and had jerked his head towards the house.

“C’mon, boy,” he’d murmured, and placed an arm around Dean’s shoulders. “How ‘bout you go find that brother of yours while I call Sal’s? I think we all deserve pizza tonight.”

And, just like that, they’d fallen back into the somewhat-routine that was staying at Bobby’s house. That night they’d eaten pizza, and Sammy had watched cartoons on Bobby’s beaten-up tv, and then Bobby had forced them both to bed at a reasonable hour. In the morning, Dean had made breakfast while Bobby called to enrol them in the local school system; it was close enough to the start of the year that they hadn’t missed too much, but not close enough for them not to stand out as new kids – but that was the story of their lives, Dean had supposed.

Within the week, they both had new backpacks, books, and a pencil case that Bobby had let them pick out themselves, filled to the brim with all kinds of stationary – some of which Dean was sure he’d never even _seen_ before. Bobby had also, after taking a long look at them both, bought them each a pair of sturdy boots, as well as a handful of new t-shirts and pants. Sammy, after years of Dean’s hand-me-downs, had even gotten a couple multi-packs of new underwear and socks. It was the most money anyone had ever spent on them, and Dean had tried to decline, but Bobby had been insistent. Plus, Sammy hadn’t stopped smiling as he’d paraded around the store in his boots, which he had refused to take off; Dean didn’t want to be the reason that smile disappeared.

The next morning, clad in his new clothes and with his new supplies, Dean had almost felt like a new man as he’d herded Sammy into Bobby’s rusty truck. He wasn’t, of course – would always be the same old Dean – but sometimes it was nice to pretend, even if only for a moment. While he had discreetly checked himself out in the rear-view mirror, Sammy was prattling on about books, or geography, or whatever it was the kid rambled on about when he was excitedly nervous; Bobby, to his credit, had listened to every word with an indulgent smile on his face.

They dropped Sammy off first. It had been decided the little brainbox would skip a grade, start middle school early instead of going into fifth grade. Dean couldn’t say he hadn’t been worried about that, but the middle school was a ten-minute drive from Dean’s school, rather than the twenty-five it would have taken to the elementary. If Sammy needed him, he could be there in no time. He’d said as much as Sam climbed out of the car, had reminded him to wait out front for him so they could walk home together at the end of the day, and Sam – so small amongst all the other kids – had simply rolled his eyes and disappeared into the fray.

The following drive to Dean’s new school had started silently, but Bobby, who always seemed to know what Dean was thinking, had eventually murmured, “You just focus on yourself, boy, and let me worry about Sam.”

They both knew Dean couldn’t do that, but he’d appreciated the sentiment all the same. With the ice broken, they had spent the remaining drive chatting amicably, Dean interested to know what cars Bobby would be working on in the ‘shop that day, and by the time the conversation came to a natural end, they’d been sat out front of the school for close to fifteen minutes.

“So,” Bobby had hummed, turning the full weight of his gaze on Dean. “You gonna dawdle in here all day, or are you gonna scoot?”

Bobby knew him _far_ too well, and they both knew it.

“It’s just high-school,” he’d continued, once it became apparent Dean wasn’t going to say anything. “Barely a blip on your radar, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered.

He’d killed werewolves, for God’s sake – he’d helped his Dad take down shapeshifters, and ghosts, and all manner of spooky shit – so why had the idea of getting out of the car made him feel so nervous? Why was the idea of a group of teenagers more anxiety-inducing than a nest of vampires? Bobby had been able to see the fear in him, he knew, and he hadn’t been able to help but flush in embarrassment. What was _wrong_ with him?

“Well,” Bobby shrugged, calm as a cucumber. “We can always try again tomorrow. Not like I couldn’t use the help in the ‘shop.”

Dean had loved him so much, in that moment, for offering him an out without making it a big deal. He’d loved him so much that it gave him the strength to shake his head, to plaster a smile on his face as he’d scooped his backpack up out of the footwell.

“Nah,” he replied, and took a deep breath. “I’m gonna be late – don’t want to get in trouble on my first day, right?”

“Right,” Bobby had nodded, a smile ticking up the corners of his mouth. “That work in the ‘shop will keep.”

“Right,” Dean agreed, and had then opened the car door. “Thanks, Bobby.”

“Kick its ass, kid,” Bobby replied.

And he had. He’d never been the smartest kid by any means, and classroom learning was far from his preferred method of education, but he’d managed to do well enough to fly under the radar, for the most part. He never offered answers unless called upon, but was rarely wrong when he did, and was mightily proud of the Bs and Cs he was managing to maintain across the board, considering the vast majority of his time was taken up worrying about Sammy, or wondering what his Dad was doing.

Each day, after school, he’d pick Sammy up and they’d walk back to Bobby’s house. A couple days a week, they’d stop in at the local market, and Dean would let Sammy pick out some candy with the money Bobby had insisted on paying him for helping out at the ‘shop on weekends. Sometimes, they’d pick up pizza, or pie for dessert, to save Bobby from having to cook. It was nice.

It was lonely.

Because the longer the whole thing dragged out, the more of a scam it had seemed – only, Dean was fairly certain he was the only one who had been able to see it. Sammy had settled into normal life with frightening competence, and Dean had dreaded having to remind him that none of it was permanent – so he hadn’t. He’d let the charade carry on for a while longer, but in doing so had managed to inadvertently distance himself from the only people he logically knew he could count on. Bobby had noticed, he was sure, though he hadn’t said anything about it.

Dean had withdrawn further at school, too; his grades were slipping, his homework barely done. He’d made an effort to at least be polite, if not friendly, with the other kids, but even that went down the drain as he’d closed himself off, hunched at the back of his classes in a manner he knew looked standoffish. It was necessary, he’d told himself, to stop any of them from getting too close. It was pointless, trying to make friends, when he was just going to have to leave again.

But somehow, and entirely against his will, he managed to make friends, regardless.

Lilah had been first, sidling up to him during second period science after the teacher had called for everybody to find a lab partner. She’d dumped her books on the bench beside him, flicked her dark, messy hair out of her face, and flashed him a dazzling smile that he couldn’t help, in his shock, but return.

“You’re new, right?” she’d asked, and his smile had faltered.

“Yeah,” he’d replied, already preparing to build his walls back up.

But Lilah, who he would come to realise was smarter than anyone gave her credit for, had just nodded her head thoughtfully and hummed. “You better come to the bleachers at lunch so I can introduce you to everyone, then.”

 _Everyone_ , Dean had finally found out after almost convincing himself not to show up, being Emmie and Drew. They were a ragtag little bunch – not sporty enough to be popular, or smart enough to be considered geeks, but somewhere in between that meant almost everybody left them to their own devices. Dean had immediately felt like part of the group – and really, with hindsight, that had been the beginning of the end for him.

Because suddenly he’d had people to sit with in class, and houses to go to after school that didn’t belong to Bobby, and of course he’d still walked Sammy home and made sure he’d had dinner first, but he’d also had something that, for the first time in his life, was just his. He’d had a study buddy in Emmie, and a partner in crime in Lilah, and Drew – who he had immediately found a kindred spirit in after realising he was just as big a Star Wars nerd as Dean was – had immediately taken him under his wing. Within a few weeks, they had been inseparable, and Dean felt as though he had known them all his life.

“My Mom’s out of town for a conference this weekend,” Drew had mentioned one day while they’d been lounging on the bleachers, basking in the remnants of the weak, wintery sun. “The house will be empty; you guys wanna raid the liquor cabinet and hang out? You can sleep over if you want.”

Emmie and Lilah had immediately squealed their agreement, and launched into a debate about what to tell their parents. Dean had listened quietly as their plans became more and more elaborate – “What if I tell _my_ parents I’m at _your_ house, and you tell _your_ parents you’re at _my_ house?“ – and he’d jumped a little as Drew slid across their shared bench to bump him gently on the shoulder.

“You’re coming, right?” he’d asked, voice quiet as the girls continued to bicker beside them. “I was actually thinking, if you show up a little early, we could watch Raiders of the Lost Ark before the girls arrive?”

Dean had never spent a night away without either his Dad or Sammy there with him. He’d fumbled for a moment, not really sure how he felt about the whole idea, but Drew’s small, hopeful smile had eventually made his mind up for him.

“Sure,” he’d agreed, realising that he was smiling, too. “But only if there’s popcorn.”

“Of course,” Drew had huffed, faux-affronted. “What do you take me for?”

It had been easy, then, to fall back into the little rhythm of their group. When Dean had gone home that evening – and he’d realised he was starting to think of Bobby’s house as _home_ , which had worried him only for a second before he’d decided to let it go – he hadn’t felt a need to lie when Bobby probed him about his weekend plans.

“Think I still have a couple sleeping bags in the attic from that hunt back in ’87,” was all Bobby had offered, though his smile seemed pleased – almost proud – when Dean told him about his friends. “You gonna need a ride, boy?”

Dean had readily agreed, already excited, and by the time Saturday afternoon rolled around he had barely been able to contain himself. Sammy, in true little brother style, had taken to making fun of him, but Dean, in an uncharacteristically good mood, had let the weak jibes slide.

Drew lived fifteen minutes from Bobby’s by car, in the nice part of town where Dean had very rarely gone. His house was at least twice the size of Bobby’s, but nowhere near as homely; Dean said as much to Bobby as they pulled up outside, and the old man had smiled warmly at him.

“Go on, get,” he’d ushered, and Dean grinned as he hopped from the car. “You just be careful, y’hear?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean had replied, and had to stop himself from bounding down the path with his backpack and sleeping bag in tow, lest Drew peek out of a window and see what a dork he was being.

He’d offered Bobby one last wave before knocking on the door, and heard the car pull away behind him. Drew answered almost immediately, as though he had been excitedly waiting on the other side of the door, and offered Dean a toothy grin as he’d herded him into the spacious living room.

“Tape’s on the shelf,” he’d pointed. “You want a drink?”

“Sure,” Dean had agreed, watching as Drew disappeared through the house before he’d gone to find the VHS.

Drew was taller than him by at least three inches, and not nearly as stocky. He’d opted, that day, to wear a thick green sweater that brought out the flecks of hazel in his brown eyes, and he hadn’t bothered to style his hair; it hung in loose, golden curls across his forehead, and had reminded Dean, for just a moment, of a halo. He had a way about him, a quiet confidence that Dean wasn’t used to seeing in kids his own age, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Dean had supposed he didn’t – at least, not in comparison with himself – but it was still strange to witness first-hand.

Dean liked it. Liked Drew. He made him feel calm, safe, and not alone. His smile was infectious, his sense of humour wicked, and Dean hadn’t been able to believe his luck, that he could call him his friend. Hell, that he could call _any_ of them his friends.

He’d inserted the tape and settled himself on the plush couch, fast-forwarding through the ads, by the time Drew appeared again. He’d had a bowl of popcorn under one arm, and was juggling an assortment of alcohol bottles in the other. The popcorn had been handed directly to Dean, who instantly crammed a handful into his mouth, and he watched as Drew seemed to ponder over the drinks for a moment, before selecting a beer and twisting the cap off. He took a long pull, head tilted back to show the long line of his neck, before he’d passed it over to Dean.

“Don’t want to start too strong,” he’d shrugged, collapsing onto the couch beside Dean. “The girls will probably want to play drinking games.”

Dean hadn’t been entirely sure what that might entail, but he trusted Drew’s judgement. He took a sip of the beer – his first taste of alcohol – and almost choked on the bitter flavour. Drew had laughed, but it wasn’t unkind, and then he’d swung his legs up to throw them over Dean’s thighs. Dean had looked at him, then, and Drew had stared back with the slightest of smirks, his dark eyes asking _what are you going to do about it?_

Dean had done nothing. He’d readjusted the popcorn so it balanced on Drew’s legs, taken another (cautious) sip of the beer, and had passed it back. The movie started to play, but he hadn’t really been paying attention – too caught up in the weight of Drew’s legs across his own, and how unusually good it felt. Two hours passed in a blur, the two of them exchanging the occasional quip as they passed the beer back and forth between them, and Dean had found himself somewhat bereft when the doorbell finally rang and Drew disappeared to let the girls in.

That feeling had soon disappeared, however, under the crushing excitement the girls dragged into the house with them. They’d both dressed up, putting Drew and Dean to shame, and were toting enough snacks to feed a small army as they bounced through the door.

“There’s a firepit out back,” Drew announced, already herding the girls down the hall. “Girls, can you get it started? Dean, grab the booze – there’s a boombox around here somewhere –“

Dean had done as instructed, scooping up the alcohol and following behind the girls into the backyard. The beer he’d shared sat warmly in his gut, not enough to make him feel drunk, but relaxed in a way he hadn’t been for an exceptionally long time. The early evening air was already brisk, and Dean dropped his treasures onto a nearby table so he could help the girls figure out the firepit down at the end of the yard. They managed it after a few moments of struggling, and were all chuckling at themselves by the time they’d finally got it lit. Dean felt light, almost buoyant, in the company of his friends, and marvelled at the idea that his company made them feel the same.

“Okay, Emmie, truth or dare?” Drew had crowed, appearing from the house with a boombox in his arms.

Emmie rolled her eyes, even as she replied, “Truth.”

“Boo,” Drew grinned, and placed the boombox – playing a song Dean had never heard before, because it wasn’t classic rock – on the floor beside them. Then, instead of finding his own seat, he’d unceremoniously wedged himself into the same seat as Dean, plastering himself along Dean’s side.

Dean hadn’t really known what to do with that, could think of nothing but the fact that Drew radiated a heat that made him feel warmer than any of the alcohol had. He’d shifted, just slightly, so their bodies were better aligned, and decidedly _didn’t_ think about how well they fit together.

Lilah passed them both a new drink, something that tasted like paint stripper smelled, but said nothing about the seating arrangement as she found her own seat and said, “Okay, Emmie, truth – do you have a crush on Scotty Dreyfuss?”

They’d all burst into laughter while Emmie spluttered around her drink, cheeks visibly heating as she attempted to come up with an answer. Dean had known it was futile – she’d told him herself about her crush while they’d been studying in the library one afternoon during a free period – and when he’d glanced at her, he could tell she knew there was no getting out of it.

“Fine!” she’d admitted, to the whooping guffaws of Lilah. “He has pretty eyes, okay? And he was really sweet when he helped me carry my diorama home last week. Did you know he volunteers at the dog pound on weekends?”

“No wonder his gym bag smells like wet dog,” Drew had huffed, making Lilah laugh all the harder.

“Alright, alright, laugh it up all you want,” Emmie tutted, but she had been smiling shyly all the while. “You’re all just jealous.”

“ _Sure_ ,” Lilah had cackled, and then, wiping her eyes in a practised motion that meant her makeup wouldn’t smudge, she’d rounded on Dean. “Okay, Dean-o, your turn. Truth or dare?”

And Dean hadn’t known if it was the sheer surrealness of the situation, or the alcohol in his gut, or the soothing warmth radiating from Drew beside him, but before he’d really thought about it, he’d chugged his drink and exclaimed, emboldened, “Dare.”

The others cheered, voices echoing in the chilly air, and Dean had grinned like a fool.

“Okay, okay,” Lilah announced, holding her drink high above her head. She’d had an almost shark-like grin on her face as she exclaimed, “I dare you to kiss Drew.”

Emmie squealed out a laugh, but all of a sudden it had seemed very far away, as though Dean had been listening down a tunnel. Drew had frozen up beside him, and when Dean had risked a glance at him – heart suddenly thudding in his ears – he looked unsure of himself for the very first time. It was strange to see uncertainty on his face, Dean thought faintly – it didn’t look right.

“I –“

He hadn’t known what to say. His face felt hot, flushed from the alcohol he had chugged, and all at once it seemed to settle over him, making him feel loose and calm. _It was just Drew_ , he’d reasoned, daring another glance his way, and while he still seemed unsure, he hadn’t looked _opposed_ … and Dean had found himself thinking… well _, why the hell not?_

Slowly, to give Drew every chance to move away, he’d leaned in until they were so close they were sharing breath. He could hear Lilah and Emmie gasping somewhere behind them, but he paid them no mind as, slowly – so slowly – he’d breached the final few inches between them and brought his lips to Drew’s.

It was awkward, to say the least. Drew’s lips were chapped, and neither of them had been even remotely experienced enough to realise they were supposed to tilt their heads if they wanted to avoid bumping noses, but… it had been perfect. It was Dean’s first kiss, and it’d been warm, and exciting, and hilariously inept, and it was _his_ –

“DEAN WINCHESTER.”

In all his life, Dean had never moved as fast as he had that evening when he’d heard his father’s voice. He’d dropped his cup as he flung himself away, completely out of the chair, and he’d had to catch himself before he fell directly into the firepit, alcohol making his legs a little wobbly. For just a second he had been still, trying to piece together what on Earth had just happened, when, through the flames, he had seen his father stood in the doorway.

If looks could kill.

“Dad,” he’d croaked, heart beating wildly in his chest, as he’d straightened up. “How did you –?“

None of the others had said anything as John had strode forwards and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, their eyes wide and terrified at the imposing figure he made. Dean had flinched, sure he had known what was about to come, but John had simply dragged him from the garden by his shirt without a word. The last thing Dean saw before the Impala’s door was slammed behind him was Drew’s terrified expression peering at him from the front door.

“How was the hunt?” he’d tried, stupidly, once his Dad had slipped into the driver’s seat.

“Shut up,” he’d snapped, and the venom in his voice had been terrifying. “Just shut up, you –“

John had said a _lot_ of unsavoury things that night. There, in the car, in front of Drew’s house, Dean had been called things he had never even _heard_ before. Sure, he knew what a Rugaru was, and could list all the ways to stop a ghost, but he hadn’t known what a _faggot_ was before that night.

“Do you want AIDS?” John had screamed, spittle flying from his mouth in his rage, and Dean hadn’t really known, past whispered insults kids threw at each other in the hallway, what that had meant, either.

He’d be fourteen, for God’s sake. He’d been a _kid_ , completely out of the loop when it came to _anything_ normal teenagers knew anything about.

“Now you listen to me, boy,” John had growled, reaching for Dean’s shirt again so he could pull him forwards, right into his space. “No son of mine – you are _not_ _gay_ , do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” he’d managed to reply, voice high and panicked. “I’m not – Dad, I’m not –“

But John hadn’t let him finish. He’d pushed Dean backwards hard enough that his head smacked against the door’s window; the glass hadn’t smashed, but pain, hot and sharp, had erupted behind Dean’s eyes. It had taken him a moment to gather himself, to catch his breath, and while he did so John had started the car and pulled away.

The next day, even as Bobby had pleaded with John to let them stay, they had loaded up the car with their meagre belongings and been on their way without so much as a goodbye. Bobby and John hadn’t spoken for a long time after that, and Dean had certainly never seen any of his friends again.

Hell, he hadn’t even _thought_ about that night for over twenty years, but as he pulled back into the motel parking lot that afternoon with Cas in the seat beside him – the seat he had been sat in that night, as John had screamed at him – he couldn’t seem to _stop_ thinking about it.

He wasn’t gay, he’d said – he’d _promised_ – as he’d stared into the furious eyes of his father, and he still believed that was true; he was attracted to women, and he always would be. But when he really thought about it – when he allowed himself to think back to just how much his heart had fluttered when Drew’s mouth had been on his, and now, how Cas’s smile made him weak in the knees – he realised he couldn’t really deny it any longer.

He wasn’t gay, but… he certainly wasn’t entirely straight, either.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a well-deserved nap, Cas is a researching genius, and a startling discovery is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for this being a day late other than the passage of time is currently meaningless and I genuinely thought today was Monday.

It was barely mid-afternoon by the time they settled back into the motel room, but Dean already felt like he’d gone a couple rounds against a sledgehammer. While Cas dragged one of the bedside tables to the bottom of the bed in order to act as a research station, Dean dropped onto the mattress and found himself drooping back against the lumpy pillows. God, he was exhausted. His brain was pounding an agonising heartbeat against his skull, and after a moment he had to shut his eyes to try and stave off the migraine he knew was coming for just a little while longer.

He must have dozed – his exhaustion now greater than his irritation at the mattress – because it took him a second to blink his eyes open when something heavy and warm was suddenly draped over his chest.

“Whassis -?” he mumbled, body already tensing as if anticipating an attack, and paused only when he felt a soothing hand rake through his hair.

He blinked, once, twice, and Cas swam into focus above him. It took him a second to figure out why he looked strange – he wasn’t wearing his trench coat. He wasn’t wearing his trench coat, because he had draped it over Dean’s body like a blanket.

 _Huh_.

Cas must have seen something in Dean’s expression – what, he wasn’t entirely sure himself – because he shushed him gently and ran his hand back through his hair. It should have made him panic, he thought distantly, such an intimate touch, but it just felt so good, and Dean was so tired, and he could barely keep his eyes open. It was selfish, taking advantage of Cas’s kind nature like this, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Rest,” Cas murmured, hand a soothing anchor in Dean’s hair. “You’re exhausted. I can continue our research for a few hours while you sleep.”

Dean was supposed to argue. He was supposed to force himself up, to keep going, so they could get this damned case figured out and he could get some breathing room from Cas before he went and did something idiotic like kiss his stupid, beautiful face. He was supposed to ignore how tired he was, how holding himself together was draining him, and act like everything was okay.

But Cas’s hand in his hair was making it exceedingly difficult to do any of that. In fact, under the warm weight of his trench coat, which let out a burst of Cas’s scent whenever he moved underneath it, Dean found himself slipping back towards sleep alarmingly quickly. He wondered, as his eyes fluttered closed and stayed that way, if Cas was trickling grace into him with his touch, because he suddenly felt completely content. 

_What harm could a nap do?_ was the last conscious thing he thought, before nodding off completely.

An hour, maybe two, had definitely passed when Cas’s voice next drew him out of sleep; through the window, the sun had moved across the sky, bringing them closer and closer to evening. Dean sat up, his back protesting the movement, and pulled Cas’s coat up with him, if only to soak up its warmth for just a little while longer. His head didn’t feel like it was seconds away from splitting open anymore, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief as Cas’s soft words continued to wash over him.

He was still perched on the end of the bed, hunched over his makeshift research station, with a phone pressed to his ear. Dean couldn’t quite tell who he was speaking to, but he was using the _Official Voice_ he had learned from Dean and Sam, so Dean guessed it was something to do with the case. 

“- feel free to contact us again with any more information,” he was murmuring, voice pitched quiet and low – obviously for a sleeping Dean’s benefit. “Yes, thank you for your time. Goodbye.”

He didn’t know Dean was awake, that much was clear, because after putting the phone down he let out a little sigh and brought his hand up to rub across his eyes. The movement was so intrinsically human that it made Dean’s heart ache, and he was hit, once again, by the full force of his feelings. It wouldn’t take much to reach out and run his hands through Cas’s hair, he found himself thinking, sooth him like Cas had soothed Dean earlier – but he couldn’t. He couldn’t, because he knew Cas would let him, but it wouldn’t mean the same as when Cas did it to him, and Dean didn’t think he could take that.

Instead, he swallowed a lump that was threatening to form in his throat, and asked, “What time is it?”

Cas startled, but his smile was soft as he turned to Dean. “It’s almost five. Are you feeling better?”

Dean had slept longer than he’d thought – almost three hours had passed. He did feel better, though, and said as much. Cas bobbed his head, smile still in place, and Dean found himself desperately wanting to kiss him.

He didn’t.

Pulling himself up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and, reluctantly peeling Cas’s coat away from him, he shifted until he was perched on the end of the bed beside him. He’d been working hard, Dean realised, as he looked over the stacks of paperwork with Cas’s chicken scratch handwriting scrawled all over it. He’d propped Dean’s laptop open, too, on what looked like an old newspaper scan. There were at least four other tabs open with similar-looking links.

“You’ve been busy,” he quietly marvelled, proud for reasons he couldn’t quite express. Cas knew how to do all this because _Sam and Dean had taught him how_. That was… Dean’s heart really needed to give him a break.

“Yes,” Cas agreed, oblivious to what was going on in Dean’s head, “and I just got off the phone with the Coroner’s office – they’ve confirmed there’s no evidence to suggest the bodies were ever fully submerged in water.”

It was as they’d suspected, but still interesting to have confirmed. Dean nodded thoughtfully, eyes raking over the information in front of them.

“Too risky to lure each victim down to the creek, being so close to the campground,” he hummed, spouting his thoughts aloud. “There would have been blood traces, right? DNA? Evidence of a fight, maybe?”

“Perhaps not, if the victims were enchanted in some way,” Cas reasoned, and then tilted his head to the side. “Though, I agree with you – it seems much more likely the victims were killed elsewhere and simply… deposited by the creek in an attempt to fool us.”

“Make it seem like they’d drowned to cover up the drained blood?” Dean muttered, and then shook his head. “It’s sloppy, that’s for sure.”

“We fell for it, initially,” Cas shrugged one shoulder, “and the local law enforcement seem stumped.”

Small town sheriffs were never prepared for stuff like this, Dean thought to himself. The most exciting thing any of them ever dealt with was road collisions, or kids shoplifting – it wasn’t particularly surprising that none of them seemed to know what the hell they were dealing with. Hell, _Dean_ didn’t know what they were dealing with, and he was supposed to be an expert.

“Okay,” he sighed, and flicked through a few of the papers in front of them. “What else? Anything interesting?”

Cas hesitated, but then reached out to pull the four victims’ reports from his pile of papers. “Maybe? A lot of the town’s records have been uploaded onto their website, so I ran the victims’ names through the search function to see if anything linked them – “

“And?” Dean asked, attention piqued.

Cas drew the laptop towards him, and clumsily snapped four separate articles into place side by side. The copies varied widely in condition, but even Dean could make out that they were at least different issues of the same local newspaper.

“The first victim is named in an article from the 90s,” Cas explained. “Michael Turner, then thirteen, was charged with property damage after being dared to graffiti a local house by his friends.”

“And that made the _papers_?”

Cas shrugged, but his lips ticked up at the corners as he replied, “This is a small town, Dean. I expect they thought that was rather exciting.”

Dean huffed. “Fine, whatever. So the kid was an idiot – all kids are. How does that connect to him being found without any blood thirty years later?”

“The second victim, Angela Thomas, is named more recently, this time charged with breaking and entering with attempted burglary,” Cas continued. “The third victim, Debbie Johnson, is named in an article as the project manager for a new shopping development that was passed through local government a few years ago. It eventually fell through, but –“

“Cas, wait,” Dean had to make him stop, because he had no idea how _any_ of that was connected to anything. “You’re gonna have to give me more info, buddy, because this all seems like a bunch of totally unrelated small-town bullshit.”

Cas levelled him with a distinctly unimpressed look, and then pulled the laptop towards himself again. He brought up a local map in a new browser tab, and quickly pointed to an area of open land on the outskirts of town.

“This is where it was proposed the shopping development would be built,” he explained, and quickly flicked back to the articles. “Now read the address of the graffiti and attempted burglary cases.”

Dean scanned both articles, and felt his eyes widening. “They’re… the same address?”

Cas nodded, and quickly typed said address into the map browser. As soon as he hit enter, a pin appeared… right on top of a lone house that sat within the perimeters of the proposed development land.

“Holy shit,” Dean murmured, before daring to ask, “And… the fourth victim? They connected to the house, too?”

“Not the house, exactly,” Cas admitted, but his expression was one of grim satisfaction when he pulled up the last article. “This one is dated only a couple of weeks ago. Laura Danes was drunk driving when she lost control of her vehicle and crashed through the local cemetery. As well as being charged with a DUI, she was also charged with property damage when her car destroyed a number of graves – one of which belonged to a Miss Gloria Brown, who –“

“Let me guess,” Dean sighed. “Used to live at the same address?”

“Exactly,” Cas nodded, and seemed mightily pleased with his detective work.

His eyes were shining in the light of the laptop screen, crinkling at the corners like they did only when he was genuinely happy. His smile, which Dean had always thought was pretty goofy, pulled his whole face up, made him seem younger than usual.

 _Jesus_ _Christ_ , was Dean gone over him.

“This is… good job, Cas,” he praised, and couldn’t ignore how Cas just seemed to smile all the harder. “I should fall asleep more often, huh? You’ll be as tech savvy as Charlie in no time.”

“I’m sure we could have figured this out much quicker together,” Cas replied with a straightforward sincerity that made Dean’s head spin a little. “But I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah,” Dean hummed, not really sure what else to say. “So, we… my immediate thought is vengeful spirit, right? Dead old lady going after all the people who wronged her when she was alive? And then the girl who desecrated her grave?”

“That was my initial thought, too,” Cas agreed, “but that doesn’t account for the natural phenomena, or explain why the bodies are found in the forest, drained of blood.”

He was right, but it was still a lead, and Dean refused to let anything deter him now they finally seemed to be getting somewhere.

“Well, does anyone live in the house now?” he asked instead, but Cas shook his head.

“I pulled Gloria’s record; she wasn’t married, and had no children or family to speak of. It’s been almost six months since her death, and the house just seems to have been… left to rot.”

Dean hummed. “The record tell you how she died?”

“There was a small obit in the local paper that recorded her death as _old age_ ,” Cas quoted, and then tilted his head to the side. “She went to sleep one evening and just… didn’t wake up again. As far as I can tell, it was completely natural.”

Which was boring. It did mean the old broad had died in the house, though, which was definitely more interesting.

“So…” Dean grinned, and risked slapping Cas on the shoulder – friends did that, right? It wasn’t too obvious? “You ready to go break into some dead lady’s house?”

Cas snorted, but he was already reaching for his coat.

~

There was a bar on the edge of town with a parking lot where they left Baby. The sun was beginning to disappear beyond the horizon as they set off towards the house, and Dean realised, with a pang, that he hadn’t eaten anything all day. His stomach growled in frustration, but he ignored it – there’d be time for food later.

The house loomed, creaky and imposing, ahead of them, and it only took ten minutes of wading through long grass and brush to reach it. They circled the whole property once, taking in the chipped paint and cracked windows, but found nothing especially interesting on the outside.

“Come on,” Dean murmured, and led them back to the front door.

He took a step up onto the porch and it creaked loudly underfoot. Cas winced; any element of surprise they might have had just disappeared in the blink of an eye. Dean drew his gun from the back of his pants as he took another tentative step towards the door – the element of surprise was gone, sure, but it was still pretty hard to argue with the nose of a gun pointed your way.

The door swung open when he pushed it, already unlocked. He risked a glance at Cas, because that was pretty weird, right? Cas seemed to be having similar thoughts, because he silently drew himself up to his full height as if bracing himself for a fight.

It was… kind of hot.

Because now Dean was allowing himself to have these thoughts, he could very much appreciate how Cas’s chest puffed out, how strong he looked. When they’d first met, his suit had been too big on his thin frame, but over the years, the more they had fought together, he’d filled out with wiry muscle that now had his shirt pulling a little too tightly across chest. Dean caught himself thinking about peeling that shirt over firm shoulders, and forced himself to focus. It’d be really embarrassing if he ended up getting killed because he was fantasising about his best friend.

They stepped silently into the house, only to be met with… nothing. No cold spots, no weird sensations. The inside was actually in surprisingly good condition, considering it had supposedly been abandoned for six months – old fashioned in its furnishings, but, hey, old people liked what they liked. It was also suspiciously dust free, however, which immediately set alarm bells ringing in Dean’s head.

“This place seem a little… too clean to you?” he muttered, tailing Cas through a door that led to the kitchen. It was a little dated, like all mid-century houses were, but spotless in a way that even lived-in houses usually weren’t.

There was no food in the cupboards and the fridge was turned off. The lights, when Cas flicked the switch by the door, spluttered for a moment, but eventually came on overhead. A small table with two chairs was tucked into one corner, and Dean idly ran his hand over the wood; it came away completely clean.

“Dean?” Cas called suddenly, and when Dean looked up, he realised he had disappeared back through the door.

Tensing automatically, Dean brought his gun back up and edged through into the hall. He made sure to spot every door, every possible place something could attack them from, but found himself relaxing incrementally when he spotted Cas at the end of the hall, past the stairs, obviously unharmed.

“What’s up?” he asked, and immediately got his answer as he sidled up to stand beside him.

A door was set into the side of the stairs, obviously leading to a cupboard or basement. That in itself wasn’t all that strange, but the large Enochian symbol painted in the middle certainly was, and so were the three separate padlocks sealing the door closed.

“Front door was wide open, but _this_ needs locking?” Dean muttered, reaching out to examine the symbol further. His hand came away red, and a quick sniff confirmed the bubble of unease that had settled in his chest – it was blood.

“A demon ward,” Cas provided quietly. “Whatever’s in there, she wanted it protected.”

“Think you can get it open?”

Cas rolled his eyes as though that was a stupid question, and then reached for the door handle. Dean thought he might mojo the locks open, or maybe even pull them apart, but instead he gripped the handle and kind of just… _pulled_ until the whole door was ripped from its hinges.

_Holy shit._

He set it against a nearby wall, not even short of breath as he lifted it with ease, and then levelled a gaze at Dean that seemed to ask _what next?_ Dean swallowed heavily, not really sure how to respond to such a blatant show of strength (and what that did to him), and had to clear his voice before he could reply.

“That’s… yeah, that works,” he croaked, and nodded his head. “Yeah, that’s – thanks.”

Cas smiled, a small thing, and gestured to the stairs leading down. “After you.”

Dean nodded, taking point, and raised his gun once again as he ducked through the doorway and descended to the basement below. He didn’t know what he had expected to find, exactly, but… it certainly wasn’t what he was met with at the foot of the stairs. He skidded to a stop, felt Cas smack against his back before he could stop himself, and they both just stared in silence for a couple of seconds at the scene in front of them.

“ _Fuck_.”

It was a goddamn _apothecary_. The walls were lined with shelves, each one bowing under the weight of mountains of spell books and jars, plants and bones. Dean took a tentative step forwards and peered into the closest jar; he swore something blinked back at him from the murky liquid within, and he supressed a shudder as he stepped away again.

“This is…” Cas didn’t seem to be able to find the words he was looking for as he stared around them with wide eyes. “Some of this feels _ancient_.”

Dean forgot, sometimes, that Cas could sense things in a way he couldn’t. He could only imagine the kind of signals this room must be giving out, and shuddered all over again at the thought. He didn’t have any kind of angel mojo, and even _he_ could feel the bad vibes – he was surprised Cas hadn’t popped a nosebleed or something.

“Don’t touch anything,” he warned when it looked like Cas was going to reach out for an open book. “We don’t know what kind of bad juju is hanging around in here.”

Whoever Gloria Brown had been, she was clearly wrapped up in some _bad shit_. Dean drifted over to a table along the back wall and peered down at what looked to be a half-completed spell. A book lay open and handwritten words in a language he didn’t understand stared back at him. Ingredients – some he vaguely recognised, and some he had no idea about – littered the surface, actively rotting, and the smell caught in the back of his throat.

“I don’t like this,” he grimaced, taking another look around the room. “This is… this is powerful witch shit.”

Cas hummed in agreement, and looked as perturbed as Dean felt. “We should leave.”

Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly snapped a few pictures on his phone as evidence, and then followed Cas back up the stairs. He found he could breathe easier as he ducked back out into the hall, and took a moment while Cas replaced the door and used his grace to repair the seals to let his mind race.

They were no closer to figuring out just what the hell was going on – that much was clear. They had four dead bodies, freak weather, electric-shock eggs, and now a dead witch that may or may not be harbouring a grudge from beyond the grave. Some of the stuff he had seen in the cellar suggested _exceedingly_ powerful magic, but he didn’t know enough about how any of it worked to be able to piece the clues together.

_It didn’t make any sense._

“We should check the rest of the house,” he murmured once Cas had repaired the door, and Cas nodded his head.

They quickly made their way through the remaining rooms, even though Dean was fairly certain they both knew they wouldn’t find anything – and he was right. The most interesting thing he found was that the bed was unmade upstairs, followed by a half-empty bottle of lube and a pair of fluffy handcuffs in a drawer. He held them up so Cas could see, eyebrows raised.

“You said she wasn’t married?”

“No,” Cas confirmed, expression flat.

Dean hummed, tossing the supplies back. “Huh. Kinky.”

“Hardly,” Cas muttered behind him, and Dean… well.

Dean didn’t really know what to say to that.

They made one more sweep of the house just to make sure they weren’t missing anything, and ultimately met back out on the porch. Cas closed the front door behind them and pressed his palm against the surface; there was a quiet _snick_ , and Dean realised he must have locked it.

“It might deter anyone from wandering in until we can decide what to do about the basement,” he shrugged, and Dean nodded.

“Smart.”

They stood in silence for a moment, breathing in the brisk evening air. Dean knew Cas was just as troubled by what they had found as he was – could see it clear as day on his handsome face. They needed to figure this out, and _quickly_.

And yet… Dean’s stomach had other ideas. It grumbled loudly between them, reminding him once again of how hungry he was. He felt his cheeks heating up a little when Cas stared at him, and shrugged.

“Not eaten for a while.”

Cas nodded his head, as though something was decided. “Well, none of this is going anywhere. We should find dinner and pick this back up tomorrow.”

He had a point, Dean’s stomach loudly told him, and he sighed, before nodding.

“Sure,” he agreed. “That bar we parked by was advertising burgers – let’s go.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas have a moment, Dean freaks out, and everything goes to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for no update on Friday - real life shit got in the way. Hope this 6.2k doozy makes up for it :D

_Pete’s_ was obviously a local favourite; there was no way such a dive could have survived without being. Dean left Cas at the bar to place their order, grimacing at how his shoes stuck to the floor when he moved, and quickly found them a booth by the window. He’d always judged the quality of a bar by the seating – probably stupidly, he was aware – and as he sat down, he couldn’t help but frown.

What was _with_ this town and lumpy furniture?

He was still trying to find a comfortable position when Cas wandered over to him, a beer in each hand. He passed one to Dean and took the seat opposite him, returning Dean’s frown as he shifted on the cheap material.

“The bunker has ruined my ass,” Dean muttered, finally finding a somewhat comfortable position. “Anything less than memory foam just doesn’t cut it anymore.”

Cas looked at him with an odd expression, and then took a long pull of his drink. Dean waited for his reply – a chuckle, maybe, or an agreement – but when Cas finally put his drink back down with a heavy swallow, Dean got none of those things. Was he… blushing? No – no, it had to be the low lighting.

After a moment, Cas cleared his throat and asked, “What are we going to do about the basement?”

No small talk it was, then.

Dean found himself shrugging one shoulder, and let a tired sigh fall from his lips. “My initial thought was burn the whole thing to the ground. It’s abandoned, right, and it’d probably take down any object Gloria could be attached to, if she’s a ghost. But…”

“But we don’t know how some of the magical ingredients will react to fire,” Cas finished for him, and Dean nodded.

“I took photos,” he hummed instead, sipping at his beer. “Could send them to Rowena, see if she has any ideas how to clear it all out.”

He would hate doing it – and he could see from his expression that Cas wasn’t thrilled by the idea, either – but while he didn’t exactly trust Rowena, she sure had her uses, and recognising magical shit was definitely up there at the top. If they could figure out how powerful Gloria Brown had been, or what sort of shit she had been getting herself into, maybe they could link some more of the clues together and finally start figuring this whole mess out.

“Do it,” Cas nodded, and that was all the confirmation he needed.

Reaching into his pocket, Dean pulled his phone out and quickly sent the photos, along with a quick explanatory message, to the number he had saved under Rowena’s name. It was getting late, and she kept strange hours, so he wasn’t expecting an immediate response; he dropped his phone onto the surface of the table between him and Cas, and then glanced out of the window. The light was fading fast now, but he could still just about make out the silhouette of Gloria’s house in the distance, imposing even so far away.

She’d had a lot of natural ingredients, he remembered – plants and animal parts. Maybe the eggs he’d found were an extension of that? It had to be connected somehow, but he just couldn’t see it. Why were the eggs in a separate location, along with the bodies? How did the lightning storms fit in, if at all? None of the witnesses had mentioned cold spots, or ghost sightings, so were they even dealing with a spirit? There were still entirely too many loose ends, and Dean didn’t like it one bit.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the arrival of his food. Cas had ordered him a bacon cheeseburger and fries. To keep up appearances, he’d also ordered a side portion of onion rings to make it look like they were sharing; Dean immediately grabbed for one and crammed the whole thing in his mouth, which only served to make Cas smile.

Dean’s heart did a little somersault in his chest at the sight.

To keep himself from staring, he turned to his burger and immediately started pulling it apart, searching for the tomato so he could get it as far away from him as possible. Only… there wasn’t any tomato. He glanced up at Cas, who was watching him with a prickle of concern lining his face.

“Is something wrong?”

“You…” Dean’s heart was still doing funny things in his chest. “You ordered it without tomato?”

“You hate tomato,” Cas replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

_Cas knew his order_. He knew Dean so well that he had specifically requested no tomato for him. Dean was very aware that he was being stupid, that it wasn’t a big deal, that Cas had literally rebuilt him from atoms and knew him better than he sometimes knew _himself_ , but. Cas was a former _Warrior of God_ , an _Angel of the Lord_ , and he knew Dean didn’t like tomato – not only knew, but had enough foresight to customise his order so Dean didn’t have to do any extra work.

“Unless you… do like tomato?” Cas continued, brows drawing together. “You always remove it, so I assumed –“

“No, Cas, it’s perfect,” Dean was quick to cut over him, reaching out to grab Cas’s hand in a tight squeeze of reassurance. “Thank you.”

Cas tilted his head to the side, squinted at Dean with an intense focus that made him feel a little hot around the collar, before a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You’re welcome.”

Dean smiled back at him, immeasurably relieved, but when he reached back to start on his burger, he realised, with a juddering start, that their hands were still entwined. They were… shit, they were _holding hands_ – Cas was _letting_ him hold his hand – and Dean could only imagine what they must look like to the other patrons. With every fibre of his being screaming against it, he forced himself to pull away. He tried to be casual about it, to not make it a big deal, because it wasn’t, _it_ _wasn’t_ , but he still saw a flash of… _something_ cross Cas’s face before he managed to school it back into a more neutral expression.

Dean stuffed his face full of burger, and tried not to think about how he could still feel the impression of Cas’s hand against his own.

As he continued to eat, the bar around them began to fill. It was obviously letting out time, because a lot of the patrons still had work uniforms on as they sauntered through the doors – store workers and labourers, and a lot in between. By the time Dean had mopped the last bit of sauce up off his plate with an onion ring – which he had put a huge dent in, too – the place was buzzing with conversation and laughter. It didn’t seem like quite so much of a dive now it was so full of life.

Dean didn’t know if it was the warm fullness in his gut, the second beer they’d ordered, or the way the lamp above them gave Cas an ethereal glow, but something made him feel brave. He pushed his plate away, spotting an empty pool table over Cas’s shoulder, and reached for his hand again with a grin on his face.

“Come on,” he murmured, and tugged Cas to his feet with his beer in his other hand. “I’m gonna teach you how to play pool.”

Cas looked taken aback for a moment, but didn’t let go of Dean’s hand. Bolstered by that, he pulled Cas over to the table, and only let go when he had to put his beer down and pull down a couple of cues from the wall. He missed the warmth immediately.

The table was electronic, and only released the balls once Dean had fished around in his pocket and stuffed a couple of quarters into a slot on the side. Cas watched him quietly, cue held by his side, with an indulgent smile on his face.

God, Dean loved him.

“Okay,” he cleared his throat, reaching for the triangle to set the balls up. “Get over here. You set the balls up in this triangle, see? Any random order, except the black ball has to go in the middle.”

He demonstrated, shuffling the balls around until the black ball was safely nestled in the middle of the third row. Satisfied, he pulled the triangle away and set it down on the table by his beer.

“The white ball,” he continued, rounding the table to place said ball in position, “starts here. You only ever hit this ball with the cue, got it?”

“Got it,” Cas replied, brow adorably focused.

“The aim of the game is to pot all your balls – to get them into the holes,” he corrected when Cas opened his mouth as though he was about to ask what _potting_ was, “before your opponent, okay? But, again, the black ball is separate. You don’t pot that until the end.”

“Why?” Cas asked, and Dean… well, Dean didn’t actually know why.

“Because… because that’s just how the game works,” he replied, undeterred. “Okay, I’ll break – I’ll _start_. Watch what I do.”

He immediately regretted saying that, because suddenly the full weight of Castiel’s gaze was directed solely at him, and it was _a lot_. Dean swallowed heavily, hands clammy around his cue, and had to tear his own gaze away lest he accidentally pop a boner in the middle of a crowded bar. He felt Cas’s eyes even as he turned to bend over the table, but found he could at least breathe a little easier as he focused on his first shot.

“You want to scatter the balls quickly,” he murmured, lining the cue up. “It, um, it makes it easier if they’re not all clumped together.”

With Cas’s gaze still burning a hole in his back, Dean drew his cue back and let the white ball fly. It hit dead centre, knocking the other balls akimbo, and he couldn’t help the competitive twist he felt in his gut when a striped ball dropped into the top left pocket.

“Yes!” he grinned, and dared a glance at Cas. He, too, was smiling. “See, I potted a striped ball first, which means I have to pot all the striped ones now. That means you’re spots. If I accidentally hit a spotted ball, or you hit a striped one, your opponent gets an extra shot.”

“Don’t touch your balls,” Cas replied, and he was – shit, he was _smirking_ , the asshole. “Got it.”

Dean spluttered, caught between choking and laughing, and had to take a swig of his beer to give himself a chance to calm down. He wasn’t blushing – he _wasn’t_ – and Cas definitely couldn’t see it.

“ _Anyway_ ,” he continued, voice a little higher than he would have liked. “I potted a ball, so I get another turn.”

He told himself he wasn’t showing off when he tucked the cue behind his back and knocked the white ball into another striped one without looking. He didn’t pot anything else, but if Cas looked impressed regardless, that was really on him. It certainly didn’t make Dean’s gut curl, hot and tight.

“Your turn,” he gestured to the table. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Only, that also turned out to be a mistake, because watching the way Cas’s ass appeared from under his trench coat as he bent over the table, pants pulled tight against his thick thighs, did absolutely nothing to help the quickly growing situation in Dean’s pants. Sure, he was still coming to terms with his feelings, but he wasn’t _blind_ – how had he missed how _fantastic_ Cas’s ass looked?

But then Cas made his shot – or attempted to, anyway – and Dean’s thoughts were derailed as a laugh erupted from his mouth. He’d managed to hit the cue ball, at least, but so hard that it flew straight off the table and went skittering away across the bar. Cheeks flushing, Cas dropped his cue and went trotting after it, muttering apologies to the other patrons as he ducked between legs to scoop it up.

“That was, truly, a fantastic attempt,” Dean grinned as he shuffled back, and laughed again when Cas shot him a glare. “No, I’m serious! That went, what? Three, four feet?”

“Just take your turn,” Cas muttered, handing the cue ball back to him. Their fingers brushed, just for a moment, but it made Dean’s chest flutter.

He blamed that for what he did next.

“Nah, come on – try it again,” he offered, moving forwards to place the cue ball back where it had been pre-mishap. “Your posture was all wrong. Come on, let me teach you.”

Cas still seemed a little disgruntled – because Dean knew he secretly hated to lose almost as much as Dean did – but he still stepped forwards and allowed Dean to move in behind him. It was only when he pressed in close, chest flush with Cas’s back as he pivoted them both down over the table, that Dean realised the true magnitude of what he was doing.

He didn’t pull away.

Instead, he took a deep breath and shifted his hips, angling himself away from pressing _quite_ so close, but risked a hand at Cas’s waist for just a second to balance himself. He moved it quickly, afraid if he didn’t he’d want to leave it there forever, and instead moved his hands so they brushed against Cas’s on the cue.

“You, um – it’s as much about balance as it is about aim,” he murmured, and watched, fascinated, as his breath shifted the hair at the nape of Cas’s neck. “You want your centre of gravity to be as low as possible.”

With that, he shifted a little further away, only to tap his foot to the inside of Cas’s. Cas caught on with a small hum, and quickly moved his legs further apart.

Dean’s mouth went a little dry.

“Good,” he managed, and had to swallow a couple of times before he moved closer again. “Now, your eyes want to be on where the ball is going, not on the cue. You line it up right, it’ll hit the ball no matter what.”

Cas hummed again, low in his throat, and Dean barely supressed the pleasant shudder that was trying to wrack his body.

_Get it together, Winchester._

“You’re going for number six, right? The green one?” he asked quietly, and Cas nodded his head. “Okay, you wanna look over it to where you want it to go. Middle pocket?”

Cas nodded again, ear brushing Dean’s cheek, and Dean studiously ignored how good it felt. Instead, he focused on helping Cas draw the cue back, and only reluctantly let go to take a step back when he was completely ready. Cas stayed down, pressed against the table, and made his shot; the cue ball hit its intended target dead on, and it shot directly into the pocket with a satisfying crack.

“There you go!” Dean called, grinning proudly. “That was great!”

Cas straightened and turned in the ring Dean had unconsciously made with his arms. His smile, just inches from Dean’s own, was brighter than the sun and infinitely more beautiful. Dean caught himself staring, knew he should probably pull away, but he found he couldn’t quite manage it. Cas glanced down at Dean’s smile, eyelashes fluttering a little, and he’d only have to move a couple of inches to lose the remaining distance between them, to bring their lips together –

And that, in the end, was what made Dean withdraw his arms and take a step backwards. Cas’s smile faltered, just for a second, before being replaced by a much gentler one. Dean allowed himself one last moment of weakness as he reached out and squeezed Cas’s shoulder; his heart was racing against his ribcage, intoxicated by the warmth of Cas’s body under his palm, and he knew he couldn’t let himself make this mistake again. If he weren’t more careful, Cas was going to twig on to the fact he was hopelessly, uncontrollably in love with him, and Dean didn’t think he could survive the gentle rejection he knew Cas would give him.

And so, he had to step back.

“You have another shot,” he cleared his throat, nodding to the table.

Cas stared at him for a moment more, expression unreadable, before tilting his head in the approximation of a nod and turning back to the table. Dean forced himself to breathe a little easier, found it even worked now Cas’s big blue eyes weren’t piercing his soul, and took another step backwards… just to be safe.

Cas didn’t pot another ball, his hands suspiciously tight around the cue that offered absolutely no manoeuvrability, but he did successfully back Dean into a corner surrounded by spotted balls.

“You’re better at this than you’re letting on,” he huffed, failing spectacularly at sounding annoyed. “Making me pull out all my best moves.”

“I can assure you, it was a complete fluke,” Cas replied sincerely, and allowed himself to be hip-checked as Dean swept past him for his turn.

Dean didn’t think about how close their asses had been to touching, because that would be ridiculous.

He lined his shot up, not aiming for potting anything so much as just getting himself out of the situation Cas had unwittingly put him in, and managed to successfully chip the ball straight over Cas’s and into his own. If Cas made a small noise of surprise, well… Dean had already decided he wasn’t showing off.

They fell back into an easy rhythm, Dean forcing their almost-kiss and not-quite-moment to the back of his mind with all the other traitorous thoughts, and he found himself relaxing again. He liked spending time with Cas – there had to be a reason why his feelings had developed, after all. Cas had a quiet solidity that was grounding like little else in Dean’s life was. He was funny, despite what the other angels often said about him, and intelligent in a completely different way to Sam. He was easy to get along with, rolling with the punches of their crazy lives almost as easy as breathing –

And there was a guy coyly watching him from across the bar.

“Yes, he’s been watching for a while now,” Cas replied casually, and had Dean… he’d said that out loud.

_How much had he said out loud?_

Cas made his next shot, and didn’t mention the fact that Dean had been waxing poetic about him, so he forced himself to relax again. He could still feel the guy watching Cas, his presence like a beacon in the din of the bar, and found he didn’t really like the feeling one bit.

And so, of course, he had to be an idiot about it.

“You should go talk to him,” Dean found himself saying, with no memory of having actually thought those words at all.

Cas, when he risked a peek, was staring blankly at him, cue hanging loose in one hand.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because,” Dean continued, finding words even though his brain was screaming at him to _shut the_ _fuck up_. “Dude obviously likes what he sees. And he’s, y’know… handsome?”

Possibly the most beautiful human being Dean had ever laid eyes on, regardless of gender, but that was beside the point. It wasn’t – he wasn’t _jealous_ , or anything. Sure, the guy had the kind of dark, flawless skin you’d usually only see on airbrushed models, and his hair was pulled back into delicate, intricate cornrows ending in a top knot that, on anyone else (Sammy), Dean would have made fun of. On this guy, it only served to show off his chiselled cheekbones and dark, piercing eyes.

Piercing eyes that were still gazing hungrily at Cas.

And Cas, for all his initial hesitance, was looking back. Dean wasn’t jealous – he _wasn’t_ – because they’d already talked about this; Cas was allowed to fuck all the beautiful strangers he wanted, because he didn’t belong to Dean and deserved to be taken care of. He didn’t want Cas to wake up on that lumpy mattress beside him again with a boner that Dean couldn’t let himself do anything about, didn’t want Cas to feel like he was stuck with Dean and Sam just because they were the best of a bad situation.

Cas deserved better than that.

“He is very attractive,” Cas admitted quietly, though his face was pinched. “But we’re in the middle of a game.”

Dean couldn’t help the snort that escaped him, because _that_ was what Cas was worried about? He was a better friend than Dean, that was for sure; met with the choice between a near-sure thing with possibly the most attractive person in the entire world and finishing a crummy game of pool, and he was actually _pausing_?

God, Dean was so in love with him.

“Dude, the way he’s looking at you?” he found himself saying regardless, and risked knocking him gently on the shoulder. “I figure you’ve got two options. One, we can finish the game and call it an early night. Not like we can really do anything until we hear back from Rowena, anyway.

“Or, two,” he continued, unable to stop himself now he’d started – why had he started, again? “You can turn the charm on a little, go buy that guy a drink, and save yourself from that shitty motel mattress for a night.”

Cas was looking at him like he’d grown a second head – which… was probably fair. Even Dean was struggling with his flip-flopping emotions, so he could only imagine what Cas must think; hell, only last night he’d snapped at him for messaging some guy, and now he was actively pushing Cas towards one?

It had been a _long_ twenty-four hours.

“I’m not very charming,” was, of all things, what Cas decided to say.

“That’s not true,” Dean replied instantly, and only really thought about what he’d said after the fact. “I mean… you’re – you’ll do just fine.”

Cas was still looking at him strangely, and Dean had to take a gulp of his beer to distract himself from the fact that he could feel himself blushing. _Fuck_ , he was an idiot.

“What should I say?” Cas asked.

“I don’t know, man,” Dean replied with a small groan. “It’s not like I’ve ever – ever flirted with a guy before.”

Not strictly true, but Cas didn’t need to know that. In fact, in light of his recent revelation, Dean realised he might have actually been flirting with a lot of guys over the years without even realising it, which was… well, it was a panic attack for another day, he decided faintly.

“Flirting is much easier on the phone,” Cas frowned, and Dean hated the way it pulled his whole face down.

“Well, you just – whatever you’d normally say on the phone, just say in person, right?”

“I don’t think it would be appropriate to exchange pictures of our genitalia in such a public setting –“

“Oh my _God_ ,” Dean choked, and had to cover his face with his hands lest his eyes bug right out of his head. Just the _idea_ of Cas taking naked photos to send to strangers on the internet made him start to sweat. “No, definitely don’t do that. Just… say hello? Introduce yourself? Maybe skip the whole _Angel of the Lord_ thing, though.”

Cas looked like he was steeling himself, puffing his chest up as though preparing for battle, and nodded his head decidedly. He shouldn’t have looked as adorable as he did.

“Okay,” he decided, voice small, before looking back at Dean one more time. “And you –“

“Not here to cramp your style,” Dean promised, even though he suddenly felt a little bit sick. Why was he pushing Cas away like this, again? “I’ll just, um – I’ll wait around for a little while, finish my beer, but if it looks like it’s going well, I’ll leave you to it. You can – call me if you need picking up, or something.”

Jesus, he sounded like Cas’s _Dad_. The reassurance seemed to solidify something in Cas, though, because he took a fortifying breath and nodded his head, reaching out to clasp Dean on the shoulder.

“You’re a good friend, Dean,” he told him sincerely, and Dean had to swallow the bile that was quickly rising in his throat.

Then, in a bid for stupidest thing that had ever left his mouth, he replied, “Hey, bros help bros get laid, right?”

He was a fucking disaster of a human being. Thank God Cas either hadn’t noticed, or was too kind to say anything, because he instead just smiled brightly and then turned away, heading over to the gorgeous guy at the bar. Dean tried to look nonchalant as he cleared their game away, but his chest was starting to hurt, and he really didn’t want to have to look over at how it was going.

Was he a bad person if a small part of him – just a tiny, little bit – wanted Cas to crash and burn, if only so Dean could be his shoulder to cry on?

He knew the answer was yes.

But his feelings didn’t matter, because Cas deserved someone better – someone beautiful, like him. It hurt – God, it hurt like hell – but Dean could let him go if it meant he was happy. Cas deserved to be happy.

And so, suddenly very alone, Dean slunk back to their miraculously still empty booth and bedded down by the window, consciously not glancing across the bar to see how it was going. He heard Cas laugh, distinct against the other raised voices, and that was all he needed to know.

He refused to admit he was pouting when he pulled his phone out of his pocket, because pouting was for teenage girls. Rowena hadn’t messaged him back, which he had kind of expected, but he did have a missed call from Sam that he hadn’t heard over the noise of the bar. Leaving the rest of his beer (and forcing himself not to glance over at the bar for his sanity’s sake), he grabbed his phone and ducked out of the door, telling himself it was for better reception and listening purposes. If, when he was outside, he decided to lean against the nearest wall and force himself to breathe for a couple of minutes, well… nobody was watching him. It was fine.

Sam picked up on the third ring. “Dean?”

“Hey, Sammy, yeah,” Dean replied, feeling some of his nerves calm at the sound of his brother’s voice. “What’s going on?”

“Dean… are you okay?” Sam asked, because of course he did. “You sound weird.”

“No, I’m – it’s fine,” Dean lied quickly, and forced himself to take another deep breath. “You got a reason for calling, or just checking in –?“

“Where’s Cas?” Sam asked instead, because he was an asshole. “Did you talk to him -?”

“Sam, _drop it_ ,” Dean snapped, only to be met with the sound of his heart thudding in his ears and complete silence on the other end of the phone.

“Okay,” Sam replied, voice quiet and cautious, as though he was dealing with a spooked animal. “Well… I think I might have something for you.”

That piqued Dean’s interest, and he felt the tension in his body starting to dissipate a little bit as he asked, “Yeah? What kind of something?”

He quickly ran through what he and Cas had found since they’d last talked, from the victim connections to the house itself. Sam hummed through it all, and Dean could hear him flicking through some kind of book on the other end of the line.

“We thought maybe Gloria’s spirit was still hanging around, but other than salting and burning the bones, or maybe finding a cursed object connected to her, we don’t really know where to start with the other stuff,” he admitted, and rubbed a hand across his face. “None of the witnesses mentioned cold spots or ghost sightings, and there’s still the freak storms and those weird eggs to think about. The more we look into it, the less everything seems connected, man. It’s… _frustrating_.”

That was one word for it, anyway.

“Well,” Sam started, having apparently found the page he was rifling for. “Get this: after we last spoke, I started going through some of the catalogues in the basement – you know, the really old stuff. I thought, with the weather manipulation, maybe you were dealing with an old god, or something like that.”

“And?” Dean asked.

“And… no dice,” Sam admitted. “There are a couple of ancient gods that potentially fit, but not with the rest of the stuff you’ve just told me. I wasn’t really holding out hope for that being the answer, though, to be honest.”

“Anything else worth reporting?”

“Well, we initially thought it might be a vampire or djinn, right?” Sam continued, and Dean hummed his agreement. “Didn’t sound like the traditional descriptions, but then I went hunting for any off-shoots that might be a better fit. Didn’t find anything all day, but then an hour ago this book surfaced in the _Familiar_ section of the library, and… I think you’re dealing with an Impundulu.”

“Gesundheit.”

Dean could practically hear Sam rolling his eyes as he continued, “There’s not a whole lot of information, but I did what I could. They’re… well, they’re giant, vampiric birds –“

“They’re _what_?”

“- usually attached to a witch as her familiar. The lore says they’re immortal, passed down from mother to daughter, and they usually… well, let’s just say it’s not usually a platonic relationship.”

“So you’re telling me,” Dean grimaced, and had to rub a hand over his eyes again, “that Gloria Brown was boning some giant vampire bird?”

“Kinda?” Sam replied, the distaste in his voice clear. “They have the ability to shapeshift into, and I quote, _a beautiful man to seduce its witch’s enemies_. Basically, it turns into a hot dude and charms you away so it can kill you and drain your blood.”

Holy shit.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Dean murmured.

“That’s not even the worst part,” Sam sighed. “You said Gloria was dead, right?”

“Right.”

“Did she happen to have any relatives? A daughter?”

“Cas did some research – she was the last living member of her family,” Dean swallowed heavily. “Why? What… what happens if the Impundulu can’t be passed down?”

“Well, that’s when the trouble really starts,” Sam murmured. “When its tied to a witch, she has control. There aren’t many first-hand accounts, but most of the lore seems to suggest that, if the witch is benevolent, the Impundulu would be, too. They don’t have to kill – they can survive on cow’s milk and still retain all their power.”

“But if the witch isn’t there anymore to set it straight?” Dean dared to ask.

“the Impundulu are also called Lightning Birds,” Sam told him, and Dean’s breath caught in his throat. “They’re immeasurably powerful; the lore suggests the beating of their wings can create thunder, and they shoot lightning from their talons.”

“What the _fuck_ –?”

“Without a witch to guide them, they become something different entirely,” Sam continued. “Untethered, there’s really no end to the damage they could do. You said Gloria died six months ago?”

“Yeah.”

“And the murders started after that,” Sam hummed, almost to himself.

“Wait, so what you’re saying…” Dean had to take a second to process everything. “Gloria Brown dies of natural causes and leaves no heir, so her pet vampire bird goes crazy with grief and starts killing anyone who ever wronged her while she was alive?”

“Maybe?” Sam tried, and Dean could just picture him shrugging his huge shoulders. “It’s the only thing I can find that fits.”

“But… what about the eggs?” Dean asked, still confused.

“That’s part of it,” Sam replied, voice muffled for a second as he started flicking through books again. “The Impundulu has the ability to lay eggs, and it… it’s like it charges them up with lightning. Once they’re strong enough, they hatch into more Impundulus. You… you said there were six of them?”

“Yeah.”

“So that’s seven sentient birds with a taste for blood and no witch to bind them,” Sam grimaced again. “That’s –“

“That’s bad, is what it is,” Dean finished for him. His heart was pounding in his chest, and it had nothing to do with Cas anymore.

_Cas_.

“Okay, Sam, I – I gotta go get Cas,” he started quickly, already forcing himself to move back towards the door. “We gotta destroy the eggs, right? And then – shit, how do we kill one of these things?”

“There are differing reports,” Sam hummed, voice pinched. “Some say poisoned milk, but others say it has to be burned alive. Can’t imagine it’d survive getting its head chopped off, either.”

“Good to know,” Dean nodded his head, body bristling with adrenaline. “Okay, I’ll call if none of that works.”

“If none of that works, _run_ ,” Sam advised, then, “You want me to drive down?”

“What, now you’re suddenly interested?” Dean snapped before he could really stop himself. “Tired of playing puppet master?”

“Dean,” Sam started, only to sigh. “Fine, whatever. Just… call me if you need help?”

And Dean, because he knew none of this was really Sammy’s fault, forced himself to calm down. His brother was an ass, but he was a well-meaning one, at least.

“Alright,” he agreed, and ended the call before anything else could be said.

Feeling not only like a monumental asshole, but also like maybe his heart was breaking a little bit, he stuffed his phone into his pocket and stepped back inside the bar. Hoping Cas wouldn’t hate him too much for cutting his evening short, and then hating himself because a small part of him was elated at that prospect, he weaved through the throngs of people towards the bar. He couldn’t see Cas or the guy he’d been talking to, and found himself beginning to frown.

“Hey, you see where my buddy went?” he called over to the barman, gesturing to the seats they had been sat in. “Little shorter than me, dark hair, trench coat? He was… talking to another guy.”

“You mean the guys making eyes at each other?” the barman replied, brow raised in a way that made Dean want to reach across the bar and punch him. “Yeah, they left out the side a couple minutes ago. Seemed to be in a hurry, if you catch my drift.”

_Shit_.

Already moving towards the side door, Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and fired a quick message off to Cas.

_Dude, put your pants back on and meet me at the motel. We have a situation._

He then waited a courteous ten seconds, got no reply, and smashed his phone to his ear with Cas’s number lighting up the screen. While it rang, and Dean very consciously didn’t think about what he and that guy could be up to by now, he glanced around to make sure they weren’t still hanging around somewhere.

They weren’t.

“Come on, Cas,” he growled when it went to voicemail, “I need you to call me back.”

He hit dial again, pressed the phone to his ear hard enough to distract him from the terrible feeling that was starting to bubble in his chest, and listened to it ring. And ring.

And ring.

He was about to give up, at least for the moment, when the call finally connected.

“Cas,” he started immediately. “I know you’re busy, I’m sorry, but Sam figured it out and I need you to –“

“You have something that belongs to me.”

That wasn’t Cas’s voice. Dean felt his stomach drop out of his ass, and he staggered a little bit on the spot, because that _wasn’t Cas’s voice._

“Who – who is this?” he managed to ask, forced himself to sound braver than he felt, because everything was starting to slot into place in his mind, and it was like his chest was on fire.

He’d taken an egg from the cave – hadn’t even thought that maybe it might be missed. He’d taken an egg, and this _thing_ could shapeshift into a beautiful stranger and lure people to their death, and Dean had _pushed Cas into his arms_ because he was too afraid to hold onto him himself.

“Where have you taken him?” Dean asked, though he already had a couple of ideas. “If you’ve hurt him –“

“Oh, the things I could do to him,” the stranger purred. “What a treat, to have an _angel_ on my plate.”

“Don’t you _fucking_ touch him,” Dean snarled. “I swear to god –“

“You’ll have to find him quickly, then, won’t you?” the stranger replied, voice thick as honey in Dean’s ears. “All that power, all that grace – how’s a boy supposed to resist?”

Dean could hear his heart roaring in his ears, and thought that maybe he was going to pass out. Instead, he forced a deep breath, and then another one, and the world swam around him as tears prickled the corners of his eyes.

“Oh, and Dean?” the stranger hummed; Dean shuddered at the sound of his name on his tongue. “If you have any chance of getting back what’s yours, you’ll bring me what’s mine.”

Without another word, he hung up, leaving Dean alone in the empty parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Sammy said, there's really not a lot of information about the Impundulu online. I'd usually hit my local library and try to get more sources, but, y'know... pandemic, so I took bits from a couple of online articles and added a little artistic licence; I know it's a part of traditional South African culture and just tried to be as respectful as possible. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the cliffhanger :D

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment what y'all think! It's the only form of vindication I care about <3
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr! @starspangledsprocket


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